


The Demands of the Champion

by IncreasingLight



Series: In Their Blood [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fixing Kirkwall, I'm so sorry, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Not really a fix-it fic, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, alcoholic Hawke, all the happy endings, anders is dead, anger at the suggestion of a chaste marriage, because apparently I can't write anything that doesn't have that, dragon age 2 painfest, i love that that is a tag, it's more about revenge, josephine montilyet the scariest woman in thedas, love story components, making sebastian pay for the invasion of kirkwall, revenge on Bianca, seriously the happiest thing i think I have ever written, tethraghast baby, the veil is thin here, though it could go there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 89,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncreasingLight/pseuds/IncreasingLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is dedicated to all the poor blighted people that romanced Sebastian without spoilers and seriously got pissed off.  Only to have Inquisition arrive and have him invade bloody Kirkwall.  This is for you, my friends.  This is for us.</p><p>Takes place post Andraste's Asta. </p><p>And this now has a prequel! 'Long and Lonely Road'. Not necessary for you to read that first, but it does explain Hawke's experiences as Weisshaupt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke protests a little too much.
> 
> If you need a soundtrack, I suggest Breaking Benjamin's 'Had Enough', Secondhand Serenade's 'Fall For You', Demon Hunter's 'I Will Fail You', and Ingrid Michaelson's 'Over You'.
> 
> Yeah, my Hawke is definitely screwed up. Over Sebastian. She's not very smart, I admit it.

“So, there I was - standing in front of the gates of Starkhaven - a great walled city with a massive palace at its center, determined and after all this time, still pissed off. And I was there for him. That man, that idiotic former Brother, who used me to take back his city and throne only to abandon me in my hour of need and then invade my adopted hometown.” Hawke kicked back her chair against the wall - overly relaxed in the ostentatious Viscount’s Keep - even though it was fairly comfortable under the rule of the new Viscount. “I had no patience left. I swore that day there would be flame, and he would feel my ire in the form of an attack on his home. Let him see how he liked it,” Hawke smirked, and tipped back the glass of whiskey, only slightly diluted, that the staff had brought her.

“Here’s to revenge,” she toasted, and laughed, while Varric shook his head and Cassandra sat forward in her chair, hanging on the words of the Champion. Hawke was drunk, of course. Since she had stabbed Anders in the back after the Kirkwall Chantry exploded she was usually drunk. “I weighed for a moment about whether or not this was the right choice after all,” she assured Varric. “For about two minutes I debated whether it was worth the mana I would expend on the man.”

“Should that reassure me?” Varric drawled and signaled to the maid that they should cut her off. “That you thought for a moment that maybe, just perhaps, you should just go back to Kirkwall and have Varric and Aveline send a strongly worded letter with lots of big words that you would barely understand?”

“That would probably have been the diplomatic thing to do. But I wasn’t gifted with diplomacy, Varric. I’m gifted with fire, and lightening and the forces of nature. So I strode through the city gates with liquid courage running through my veins!” Hawke toasted herself again, really getting into the feel of the story. “And it wasn’t because he hadn’t slept with me, Varric,” she assured the dwarf, for the millionth time. “It wasn’t because he dared suggest such a mediocre existence to me. This was for Kirkwall!” Her chair nearly tipped over and she righted it, a trifle self-consciously, and leaned forward in the chair instead. “What I did was better.”

***

_Approximately two weeks prior:_

She marched up to the front gates of the Starkhaven palace, smirking at all the marble and statues of Andraste, and comparing them mentally to Sebastian’s armor. “Must be a family thing,” she snickered cruelly, and then threw a single fireball, just to the left of the front gate. Just to get their attention, not to actually burn anything. She had more self-control than that. “I am the Champion of Kirkwall, Marian Hawke!” she announced with a declarative voice that even Seneschal Bran would have complimented. “I am here to start peace negotiations and a ceasefire agreement between Kirkwall and the City of Starkhaven!”

“What, alone?” The guard on the battlements wasn’t exactly the brightest candle she had ever had the dubious pleasure of meeting.

“I’m the Champion of Kirkwall,” she repeated, slightly dumbfounded, “What, should I have brought a scribe?”

***

“The guard actually blushed and stepped back,” Hawke giggled and snorted through her alcohol. “I think he had read the book, Varric. You should be proud, to have instilled that kind of fear into my one-time enemies with a pack of lies.”

Varric raised a single eyebrow in curiosity. “One-time enemy? Hawke?” He prompted.

“I’m getting to that, my dwarf friend,” Hawke waved him down and nearly spilled her drink. “This is excellent whiskey, by the way. You really get the good stuff uptown, don’t you?” She smiled. “Where was I? Oh yes, the guard.”

***

_Two weeks prior:_

The guard fetched Prince Vael accordingly, and was shoved entirely out of the way as the Prince himself took his place. “Marian?” For a moment, they just stood there and stared at each other in disbelief. It had been a while, after all. “Marian Hawke, why are you burning down my gates?”

She snorted with derision. “Oh, Prince Vael, I have better aim than that. I wasn’t aiming for your gates. I shot to the left, towards all the lovely white marble. It’s not like it was going to burn.  It's only a little scorched.  It'll polish right up.”

The Prince rocked back, “What are you doing here, Marian?”

“I’m here to demand reparations for Starkhaven’s recent hostilities towards my city. Will you hear them?”

***

Cassandra smacked her knee hard, and laughed out loud, and Hawke took it as a personal compliment when she caught Varric’s eye in surprise and he winked. “You did _not,”_ the Seeker nearly guffawed. Hawke raised her glass again, noticing it was still fairly full. She set it down gently, not wanting to spill a drop of the golden liquid. It was a bit too fine for the likes of her mostly alcoholic nature, meant to be savored, not gulped.  Possibly she drank too much anyway.

“I wouldn’t lie in such illustrious company, Seeker,” She assured Cassandra. “I’m telling you, I held my breath, because my plan required me to have access to the palace, whether under a flag of truce or as an honored guest. Which one depended entirely on how much the former Brother Sebastian still trusted me _.”_

 _“And did he let you in?”_ The Seeker breathed, entranced. “Surely Prince Vael is more intelligent…”

Varric snorted this time, “Choir Boy is not known for his intelligence, Cass. Trust me on that one. He let you in, didn’t he, Hawke?”

“Give the dwarf a sovereign,” she smirked. “He opened the gates immediately, being a little naïve, as Varric has noted before. And once I was inside…” Hawke cackled, and took another small sip of whiskey. “This is from Starkhaven, isn’t it?” She asked Varric, who nodded. “Beautiful coincidence,” She sighed appreciatively, setting the glass back down. “Once I was inside…”

***

_Two weeks prior:_

He never did learn to hide his tells, even after years of practice, she noted, as he opened the gates a little too eagerly. This would be the last time he would ever play Wicked Grace with Marian Hawke, she comforted herself, and braced for a run in with his noble peons, running through the appropriate manners in her head, as she had been taught so many years before by her mother. The Prince might not expect her to know how to behave, but she, for once, would exceed his expectations.

Not that they were ever very high, as far as she was concerned.

She swallowed her bitterness and reminded herself that the trip had a purpose beyond revenge - it would serve as a cessation of hostilities.

If she didn’t fail.  She failed a lot.

***

“I knew you wouldn’t mind me doing you a favor, Varric,” she smiled her sweetest smile at her dearest friend. “You have enough on your plate right now with Seeker Pentaghast and rebuilding Kirkwall. This… this was something I could help with. Make a few less problems for you instead of more. For once, anyway,” She swallowed her feelings of regret with the whiskey and started the story again. “I’m sorry, I do keep interrupting myself, don’t I?”

***

_Two weeks prior:_

She felt so alone, but that was the point, after all. Sebastian would never see her, Marian, as a threat at all. Not his former companion, the woman who turned him down, who told him to grow a backbone and take back his city.

For the record, she had never told him to start his own version of an Exalted March in retribution of the slaughter of Mother Elthina. Blighted man.

***

Varric grew impatient and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “Shit, Hawke, I never gave you the impression that I would honor any concessions or agreements…”

“Shut up and quit talking like a politician, Varric,” She blurted out, more than a little drunk, and feeling all the freer for it. “I didn’t give him anything that you won’t be willing to give up. Trust me.” Hawke threw him her own version of his famous rakish grin, perfected after years of close association with the original.

Varric looked skeptical, but let her continue, all the same.

***

_Two weeks prior:_

She was shown into a fine room - full of yet more marble - Maker’s Breath, did they have a local quarry? - and fine linens and velvety rugs. After years of a rough and transient lifestyle she managed to be polite and not roll her eyes at the opulence. It would be nice to sleep in a bed, and have a hot bath, after all. The housekeeper left, promising the latter, and she crossed to the balcony, hoping to observe sentries and guard movements, just in case it all went to the Void and she had to get out of there in a hurry.

The door closed behind her and she spun to see her host, silent and watchful.

“What are you doing here, Marian?” Prince Vael asked again.

“I told you,” she started.

“I don’t believe you,” he crossed the room and confronted her, a little too close for her comfort. “The Inquisition prevented my annexation of Kirkwall. Starkhaven was sat in a corner and told to stay there. No peace talks are necessary. So talk, Marian.”

“The Viscount sent me to make sure we would have no further difficulties between our cities.” She met his eyes, spinning shit like a maiden spins gold in a fairy story.

“You were never an ambassador before, Marian,” Sebastian gritted out between his teeth.

“In this age we all have to wear many hats,” she answered blithely. “Varric was never a Viscount, either, and he needs people he can trust to handle these sort of tasks.  I know you have the same.”

He seemed to buy this explanation, and he rocked back on his heels thoughtfully. She didn’t dare relax for a moment. “Then why are you alone? You should have a retinue.” His educated Starkhaven accent rolled the ‘r’ melodically and she wanted to close her eyes and drink it down like a fine wine. She had missed the sound of his fucking voice.

Instead she huffed, and he nearly smiled at the familiar sound, little crinkles at the corners of his mouth giving him away. “I’m done with having people following me around staring at my ass like they have nothing better to do,” she brushed off his question.

A single eyebrow was the only sign that he was thinking about her ass, but she knew all the same. A woman knows.

***

At this Cassandra nodded eagerly. “Of course, you can feel their eyes upon you, their heated looks… Their longing to hold you, translated into a hot gaze…” Varric cleared his throat, as if he was… embarrassed? Varric? - and the Seeker blushed and bid Hawke to continue wordlessly.

***

_Two weeks prior:_

She managed not to tip off that she could read his tells, since he should have remembered anyway, and instead leaned in, closer than made either of them comfortable. “I’m sure you understand about being followed…” her shirt under her vest was purposefully gapped, a deep ‘v’ above her cinched vest leaving a clear view to her navel and what hung about her neck. And naturally, he took the bait.  Maker's mercy, he was predictable.

“The locket,” his eyes narrowed, and she could have laughed at his attempt to look menacing. He didn’t have it in him. “You still have Meghan’s locket…”

She promptly unclasped it from her neck and handed it to him. “As a sign of good faith,” she let the chain coil sensuously in his hand. “So that there are no hard feelings between us.” She still had not said his first name, and she refused to allow herself the pleasure. He was taken aback at her willingness to part with the pendant so easily.

“Oh, did you think I was here to proposition you?” Her surprise was painted on her face as thick as a whore’s makeup, and he blushed angrily, clenching the locket in his fist. “After turning down your idea of… what was your phrase… a ‘chaste’ marriage?” She laughed easier yet, ignoring the twist in her gut telling her she should feel guilty. “You know, I’ve been hanging out with the Inquisitor, who between you and me is a bit of a nerd, and she has informed me that ‘chaste’ originally meant merely ‘faithful’. Not ‘without sex’.”

The former brother blushed at that, saying nothing, but clenched his hand tighter around the locket all the same.

“I’m glad I didn’t know that when I turned your ass down,” Hawke leaned forward and purred in his ear. “Because I wouldn’t have agreed to anything less. Fidelity, Brother Sebastian, is a much underrated virtue. It implies the kind of trust that you only get through years of companionship, of shared difficulties, of trials you’ve walked through together and come out victorious on the other side.” She stalked around where he stood, stiff with discomfort in the guest rooms of his own palace. “It demonstrates that two people mean more to each other than a quick tumble, or a misguided vow to the Maker to never touch each other in love.”

The former brother cleared his throat, but still said nothing.

So she elected to continue. She had plenty more to say, after all. “It means that a… couple, shall we say? Is both dedicated and passionate about each other, to the exclusion of every other person alive…” She stepped right behind him now, and her breath gusted along the back of his neck. “Yes, it’s a good thing that I didn’t know that those many years ago, or I would have accepted, and then been very, very disappointed in you, my Prince.” She stepped back abruptly, and the flesh on his neck had goosebumps on it as she changed her tone. “Now, your housekeeper said something about a bath. So if you will excuse me, I would like to wash off the dust of the road. At what time is dinner?”

 


	2. Lighting Fires

“I left him bright red with anger and frustration,” Hawke grinned triumphantly, “in just the first half hour. Not bad for a first day’s work.”

Varric barked with laughter, “I can just see Choir Boy now. He never did understand you, Hawke. I would have told you to leave the man alone, but he deserved everything you threw at him. It made him infinitely more interesting.”

“Oh, I wasn’t done!” Her face was as innocent as a newborn child’s. “Dinner was a delight. Salmon canapés, and then Fish and Egg Pie,” she teased, and Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“We don’t want to hear about the food,” the Seeker complained. “What happened after?”

***

_Not quite two weeks prior:_

The talks began the next day.

“You can’t just demand that we give Kirkwall preferential trading ties to assist with the rebuilding!”

“Why not? We need materials, and you have materials.  We have people starving, and you have food to sell,” Hawke shrugged at one of the many chancellors. How many people did it take to rule a city? Surely Varric didn‘t have this many. “You lot are the reason that my city was under a siege and couldn’t supply its citizens with enough. The Chantry…” she shot a surreptitious glance at the Prince… “is being rebuilt, but every day they have more people needing help finding the bare necessities. With all the lovely marble you have around here, I imagine you could help with more than just the necessities.”

The Prince was sitting back in his chair, his eyebrow twitching.

“In the absence of adequate charities the Viscount thought the pious Vael’s of Starkhaven would lend their assistance. Was he wrong?” she challenged him directly, and the chancellors swung their faces back at their leader as if watching a tournament.

“The Viscount is not wrong,” he replied curtly. “We will send aid for the city immediately. Food and…”

“And sundries,” Hawke supplied, leaning forward to offer the best view down her finery’s bodice as a reward for his easy acceptance. “It has been a stormy summer, and is likely to be a cold, wet winter, wouldn’t you say? You wouldn’t want an ally to starve or freeze to death, would you?” She breathed easily, unwilling to give away the game by holding her breath. But since the Blight, wool prices were driving Starkhaven’s economy. Would he capitulate?

His eyes narrowed even more, his eyebrow almost vibrating. “Not for nothing, Champion.”

She smiled, completely at ease. “Well, of course it wouldn’t be for nothing! But a reduction for a favored trading partner would hardly put a dent in that shiny armor of yours,” she batted her eyelashes in winning mockery of a well-raised noble girl, namely, one Flora Harimann. The resemblance wasn’t missed, if his scowl was any indication. “Think of the additional sales waiting for you - people in Kirkwall have the money, but since a certain city-state tried to occupy them, they literally have nothing to spend it on! All those nobles and merchants, rolling in funds and completely unable to do anything about it.” She sighed, exaggeratedly.

“And what will Starkhaven receive in return?” The chancellor of the treasury butted in.

“A loyal customer,” Hawke replied comfortably, smelling her wine elegantly and then taking a small sip in victory. “And the warm fuzzies that come from knowing you are helping the Maker’s less fortunate children,” she taunted, deadly serious on the outside.

The Prince sighed, “Will you all excuse us? I believe I need to talk to the Champion alone.”

The chancellors stood and departed warily, as if concerned about what their Prince would do if left without guidance. Hawke waved her fingers at them charmingly and took another sip of her wine. Sebastian rolled the stem of his glass in his fingers, but didn’t drink. “Hawke, I can hardly…”

“Oh, I know,” she interrupted, willfully misunderstanding him. “It has been too long. I don’t know why I didn’t think to visit before. It’s just delightful to see you, Sebastian.” His name tripped off her tongue before she could stop it, and she cursed mentally, hoping he didn’t notice how she could taste the letters’ rhythm.

“That’s not what I meant…” he began again.

“Oh, you’ll do it,” Hawke grinned and changed tacks, all shark in a single moment. “Your hold on your city is strong, but your people are pious. How do they feel about you abandoning your vows to the Maker? Or rather…” she purred and shifted back, her breasts on display, and thanking Isabela silently for the years of lessons, not that she had ever put them to much use before. “How should they be told to think? Your cousin was simple, you said, but how adequate was his work? Your city is thriving, not falling apart from within like mine…”

“I only meant to provide protection…” Sebastian started to justify but Hawke broke in.

“Don’t fool yourself, Vael,” she said bitterly. “We both know that it was no honorable purpose that drove you. It was vengeance, a worse vengeance than even Anders had burning him from the inside out. At least Anders had cause to destroy the Chantry. Ages of oppression and abuse. You tried to destroy a city that gave you hope, that sheltered someone that bloody cared for you, and that person fought and nearly died more than once to bring you to where you are now. So you’ll help Kirkwall, and give me everything I ask for, Vael, because you know that you invaded without any cause but bitterness.” She stood. “I find I’m fatigued, Your Highness. We will continue this tomorrow.”

“Hawke…” Sebastian stared hollow eyed at the table. “I…”

“It’s all too late for that, Your Highness,” she sneered. “All of your fancy words of alliances and aid mean precisely nothing compared to your actions. Elthina would be ashamed of you. I am your reckoning, Sebastian. I am the fucking voice of the Maker telling you it’s time to repent. And you will pay your penance until I say you’re done,” she hissed and left the room, completely satisfied with the exchange.

Sebastian folded himself in his seat as she left and drank his wine until it was gone.

The next morning he found her throwing fireballs at the archery targets, and lighting the pages’ arrows on fire for them so they could do the same.

“What the Void do you think you’re…” the pages looked extremely guilty. “You’ll start a fire!”

Hawke summoned a cone of cold and extinguished the flames instantly. “Unlikely, Your Highness.”

Sebastian scowled at the reminder of her gift. “Magic should serve man…”

“Yes, yes,” Hawke rolled her eyes at the pages, who stifled giggles at her irreverence. “But I’m not ruling anything. In fact, I would say I’m providing a service. Wouldn’t you lads agree? And lasses,” she added at the last minute, winking at the lone girl holding a bow and gazing at the Champion as if she had personally hung both moons in the sky.

“Yes, Serah,” They chanted obediently.

“Off with you,” Hawke grinned, irrepressibly. “I have business with the man who is doing the ruling.” She turned to the Prince, standing impatiently. “You look tired, Sebastian. Not sleep well?”

“No, I didn’t,” he spat out.

“Couldn’t find a doxy to erase those troubles from your mind?” Hawke taunted, “Oh wait, I forgot, that vow thing. Oh, that has to suck the Maker’s Balls… What do you do for stress relief?” She shook her head. “Drink too much? That usually works for me, but I have to admit that I have had occasion…”

Sebastian growled and cut her off. “Let’s conclude this mockery of talks you’ve embroiled us in.”

“Embroiled,” Hawke repeated, rolling her ‘r’s. “Mmm, I always did love your accent, Your Highness.” Sebastian gritted his teeth, she noted and so she kept the mocking look on her face. “By all means, Your Highness, but I should warn you that we’ve only just begun. After all,” she shrugged back into the vest she had shed to play with the kids, “You have a lot of sins to repent for.” She winked saucily. “Better start praying, Brother Sebastian.”

She walked away, and let her hips swing, knowing he was looking.

That day’s negotiations were even more extreme. “We will not agree to a fifty percent reduction of our standing army, Serah!” The Commander of the Starkhaven Army roared at her.

“Really?” Hawke actually giggled, enjoying her version of diplomatic relations far too much to repress it, “I didn’t realize that Starkhaven needed so much protection from its more dangerous elements…”

“Not from itself, from its neighbors,” Sebastian shifted in his chair while his commander muttered impotently. “I know you were educated in Ferelden, Champion, but you must have a passing familiarity with the history of the Free Marches.”

“I know enough to know that Starkhaven has never been invaded, unlike most of your neighbors,” Hawke shot back. “Unless you count the time you allied with Tevinter, just to find your allies stabbing you in the back and taking over your city from within. Hardly an invasion, really. You even managed to repel the Fourth Blight, if my history lessons were right. And the Second Blight was ended here, correct? But perhaps, my friend, if you will not reduce your armies you could turn your soldiers to the Maker’s work instead. I understand that the Seeker order is going to be basing itself in Kirkwall.”

The news slammed into the gathered dignitaries like she had cast Chain Lightening. Hawke allowed herself a moment to appreciate the change of tone in the room. “How… When?” The war leader stammered.

“Our intelligence has said nothing of this…” The spymaster muttered. “I assure you, Your Highness, it cannot be true!”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, mocking Sebastian’s Wicked Grace face blatantly. “Then it will be a surprise to you that the Divine and the Viscount have given the Gallows to the Seekers. They are to use it to rebuild the order. It’s all tentative right now, as the former Right Hand to the Divine is still establishing contact with her comrades in arms, but the Seekers will remain an influential force in Kirkwall for many ages to come.”

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully, “That is news. And yes, I will make sure that the men hear. Starkhaven is known for its piety and faith. I’m sure at least a few will approach you and Seeker Pentaghast to be considered as potential candidates. The ultimate size of our army, however, is nonnegotiable, Champion.”

“Is it?” She had changed into a very tight waisted gown for the session, and she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair deliberately so that the Prince would have to avert his gaze. Some of his chancellors were not so polite, but Hawke ignored them. “And what is that army’s purpose, Your Highness?”

“The safety of Starkhaven. The preservation of our way of life,” his commander took the bait as Sebastian had not, and the Prince sighed while Hawke grinned devilishly in triumph.

“And my purpose is the same for Kirkwall, only, it would be pleasant if our way of life improved a bit from what we’ve had the past decade or so. Less blood magic, less red lyrium corrupting the air, and significantly less invasions from nosy neighbors. You were the aggressors. We were only forced to defend ourselves. I would even go so far as to say, despite your massive forces, that Kirkwall has the upper hand.” She stood, in control and her seductive attitude dropped, even while she leaned threateningly against the table with both hands. “Remember Kirkwall’s friends. Remember that we count the Inquisition as our allies, not your own, and that they armed us and prepared us to repel you. I would say with them on our side, we are a formidable opponent. Just remember as well that we don’t want to settle this on a battlefield. That’s why I’m here, Your Highness. If I wanted to raze your city I would have started a few fires by now.” She straightened, and the line of her bodice removed the view of her breasts. “I think we should stop for the day, so that your advisors can give you the advice that you are no doubt paying them well for. My advice? Give me whatever the fuck I ask for.” She spun on her heel and walked out of the chamber, never looking back.

***

“Sounds like you were starting fires,” Varric chuckled.

“Just not the kind you can put out with a bucket,” Aveline drawled, and then sighed in fatigue, “Honestly, Hawke? This sounds like you creating more trouble, not fixing some of our problems.”

Cassandra was leaning forward urgently, “I should be upset that you were using the Inquisition as a threat, but I’m too much in awe of your sheer… audacity,” the Seeker shook her head in wonder.

“Never play Wicked Grace with her,” Varric said proudly. “Isabela taught her everything, and what she didn’t teach, Hawke can do on instinct. I‘d bet she‘d even give Josie the game of her life.” He sighed, thinking hard. “So you got us trade favors, and they are sending candidates for the Seekers.”

“They will be too old,” Cassandra scoffed. “But we will find a purpose for people.”

“They can always move rocks,” Aveline pointed out. “There is always rubble. It will be another decade before the city is cleaned up.” She shook her own head at the enormity of the task.

Varric was watching Hawke closely. “What’s the rest of it, Hawke? There is always a catch, especially with you. What is it this time?”

Hawke pressed a hand to her chest. “Really, Varric? Really? I make a point to stop along the way on my way home from Weisshaupt to pay a visit to an old friend that you’ve had a recent disagreement with, to iron out the wrinkles in the duster of your relationship, as it were, and you tell me there’s a catch? O ye of little faith.”

“There’s a catch,” Aveline told her with suspicious eyes. “I’m with Varric. What is it this time, Hawke?”

“Only a good one, I assure you,” She smirked. “But I’m still getting to that part. I was in Starkhaven for three days before His Highness caught up with me again. Believe it or not, I had been at his family’s small chantry in the palace, and he…”

“Bullshit,” Cassandra broke in. “You were hanging out in places he’d likely go, hoping to see him.” She avoided Varric’s eyes, and Aveline laughed out loud, heartily, even as Hawke scowled.

“She only knows you slightly and she’s already got you pegged, Hawke. Don’t take it personally. But come on… That’s exactly what you were doing.”

Hawke pouted and flashed the Seeker a companionable grin. “Well, maybe. That’s literally the only place I ever found Choir Boy in Kirkwall. He was always there. He prayed more than Andraste ever did.”

“He had to,” Varric pointed out. “Little Miss Temptation in Fereldan form was personally testing his resolve and private vows to the Maker day after Maker-blessed day.”

Hawke huffed, “Are you critics going to let me finish my story?”

“Just skip to the juicy bits for Cass’s sake,” Varric suggested. “That’s what she wants to hear. All the pent-up lovemaking and the declarations of how he swore he couldn’t live without you.”

Hawke couldn’t help but look smug.

“He didn’t,” Cassandra nearly fell out of her chair. “Brother Sebastian…”

Aveline shook her head. She was going to get a repetitive stress injury, she was doing it so often. “Hawke, did you…”

“Not in so many words, no,” She beamed, “But if you’ll let me finish?”

 


	3. Attempted Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Coldplay's 'Fix You' if you want. It's more Hawke talking to herself.

_A week and a half prior:_

Sebastian met her in the Chantry, and made a point of finishing his portion of the Chant and praying for guidance and his family, as he always did, before turning to her, who was waiting ever so patiently for him to finish. He smelled of incense and candlewax, and it nearly took her breath away.

***

“I bet it did,” grumbled Varric, even while Cassandra shot him a quelling look. “Come on, Cass, she’s pandering to her audience now! You can’t say you want to hear this…”

“Shush, dwarf,” Cassandra ordered. “I’m listening to the Champion.”

***

_A week and a half prior:_

He stood and faced her, bracing his shoulders firmly, and it was obvious that he had been training himself just as hard as he ever had when he fought with them before. This was no Prince who led from the rear guard. His forearms were all ropy with muscles when he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

***

“You pissed him off that fast?” Varric was unaccountably angry, surprising Hawke, but she continued on her course.

“Shush,” Cassandra demanded again. “I want to hear more about his arms.”

***

_A week and a half prior:_

“Hawke,” he greeted her. “What brings you here?”  The Chantry was overdone, as was most of the palace, but at least the room itself was small, if cold.  Hawke shuddered slightly, wishing she had worn her cloak.

“Just praying for the Maker’s Blessing,” she was overly glib, intent on her role, even while she shivered in the cold. “I’m sure he has one to offer, with all his free time.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Hawke,” His knuckles had tightened around his arms. “The Maker is not someone to anger…”

“I’m not poking fun, Sebastian,” She sighed. “But for that matter, where is your sense of humor? Did you leave it in Kirkwall? With your belt buckle?”

“You stole that belt buckle,” Sebastian gritted out. “And sold it, if I recall correctly.”

“And then I bought you a better one.”

“It had the silhouette of a naked woman on it,” Sebastian protested. “I went without a belt for three weeks before you finally offered to replace it.”

“That belt may have been gaudy…”

“And inappropriate…”

“But it also had amazing protections against blood magic! Who cares what the buckle looked like if it had powers like that?” Hawke huffed dismissively.

“Oh, please,” Sebastian rolled his eyes, “You honestly expect me to believe that you were trying to keep me safe?!”

The hurt shone in her face slightly. “I never claimed to have the best taste in clothing,” Hawke said slowly. “So what if I said I was?” She bit her lip to stop herself from saying more.

Sebastian scanned her face, surprised, “It’s not like you to be this… vulnerable.”

She shrugged, “I’m under a lot of stress. I’ve been traveling and trying to stay ahead of rogue and Red Templars, as well as Grey Wardens, helping to fix the mess I left with Corypheus with the Inquisition, had to make a trip to Weisshaupt, of all places, and now I’ve been conscripted into the new Viscount’s service before I could even make it home. Forgive me if some of my walls are a little cracked,” she sounded more than stressed, without any effort at all, and the naïve Prince was quick to apologize.

“I’m sorry, Hawke, I should have appreciated… I’m just… You show up and set my government on its head. Half my chancellors are demanding I truss you up and…”

“That sounds fascinating…” she interrupted, “do go on about the tying me up?”

“And leave you at Kirkwall’s gates with a note saying where you can stick your demands!”

“You could just tell me where to stick them,” Hawke smirked. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind your assistance. But keep in mind that I could burn through ropes. You might want to consider something stronger.”

“Don’t…” Sebastian’s mouth was a hard line. “Don’t tempt me, Hawke. You…”

“You once told me that we would make a powerful alliance.” She watched his face, looking for all his tells and found them in the tightened lips and narrowed eyes. “That hasn’t changed, Sebastian.” His name was falling from her lips easier now, after a few days, but it still made her want to lick her lips. “In fact, there is more of a reason now than ever.” She shrugged, nonchalant, at least outwardly. “I don’t, however, have permission to offer the Champion of Kirkwall as a concession in our talks. She’s… otherwise spoken for. A man she used to know.” She turned away, but didn’t miss the flash of jealousy.

“You’re…” Sebastian fought to control himself. “Congratulations.”

“There’s nothing to congratulate,” she replied, letting the years of grief and loneliness seep through. “Apparently he’s dead. Or never existed. It’s hard to say which.” The hardness of her voice made the cool room seem infinitely colder, and she heard the despair demons start whispering, so she closed her eyes and attempted to focus. Now was not the time to lose control. She had to get out of there, now.

“Marian, do you mean…” But she left the Chantry without saying any prayers, and definitely without receiving any blessings.

When she entered the negotiation chambers the next time, Sebastian was alone and pacing. “Your Highness,” she made a point to curtsey. “I should apologize for my behavior earlier. It was inappropriate in a holy place.”

“Damn it, Marian,” Sebastian was already angry to the point of mildly cursing - which was pretty much as far as his cussing ever went. “Did you mean me? Did you…”

She interrupted, lest he get the wrong idea. “The man I loved apparently never existed,” she replied, a lump in her throat. “He was kind to the point of idiocy, debated on abandoning foolish vows to the detriment of his own happiness, and painfully upright. He steered my own broken rudder so many times. I’m lost without _that_ man. I thought he would make a fine Prince, a leader for his people, but instead he became a monster.” She braced herself. “We should move on. But it is probably best that we talked about this, Your Highness. We have work to do, Prince Vael, and we can‘t afford to have the past interfere.”

“Damn it, Marian, I haven’t changed,” he insisted.

“That man would have never invaded a city looking for vengeance upon a dead man,” Hawke threw back in his face. “It’s not Kirkwall you blame, it’s Anders. And fuck, Sebastian, it’s me! I helped him! And it’s _you_. You helped _me_! That I didn’t know the whole story doesn’t matter! My adopted city was nearly destroyed because of what I did, for a friend.” She breathed heavily, struggling to find her lapsed control and hearing the roar of the rage demons added to the whispers of despair demons - far too loudly for comfort. “But the man I loved would have forgiven Anders, because we all make mistakes, get angry and do incredibly stupid things.” She turned away, aware that she was moments away from losing herself. “I think that perhaps I can’t continue speaking to you today, Prince Vael. I’m a little indisposed. Please forgive me.” She made to leave and he caught her hand, touching her again for the first time.

“No,” he replied, his Starkhaven lilt deeper than she ever remembered it being, soft and almost furry. “No, forgive me. Please.”

She looked up at the ceiling and her breath caught. “I already have,” she breathed. “It’s me I can’t forgive. For being so fucking wrong about two completely different people.” She pulled herself loose and nearly ran back to her chambers and shut the door behind her.

The knocking started an hour later, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door, tear streaked and stained and her bed rumpled where she had thrown herself upon it. But at least the demons were quiet again.

“Marian,” the voice called at last. “Marian, are you there? It’s Sebastian…” His muffled voice seemed to argue with himself, “Damn it, man, she knows who you are…” And then he raised it again, “Will you speak with me? Please? Are you even still in there? Andraste‘s Mercy, you‘ve probably just left already.” It was the disappointed sigh that made her rise and cross to the door, smoothing her hair and wiping the smeared kohl from under her eyes before she opened the door, knowing it was hopeless and but hoping simultaneously that she didn’t embarrass herself too badly.

“Yes?” Her voice didn’t catch, so she breathed a little easier.

“You’ve been crying,” the man on the other side observed brilliantly. He hesitated, “May I come in?” He was wearing the armor he had always worn when he was her companion and the recognition nearly choked her.

“You can’t claim to be the same man just by changing your clothes, Your Highness,” she started, turning away.

“You said you’d already forgiven me,” he grabbed her hand again, and she tried to pull it away, but he tightened his grip. “How far does that forgiveness go, Marian? Does it extend to me asking you to kill Anders?”

“You told Fenris once that he shouldn’t count himself guilty about the people he killed under Denarius, because a murder under compulsion is not the sin of the killer, but the one who ordered it,“ Hawke said slowly. “But even if you hadn’t told me to do it, I would have anyway,” the tears started to fall again with the truth, though the sobs didn’t follow. “If he had been himself he would have wanted me to. As it was he expected it! Most mages would, Sebastian. I have, if you remember, an inside track into the thought patterns of a mage. By the time he was sitting there, he was only Vengeance, demanding Vengeance even upon himself. Even before that, I’m not sure any of us knew the real Anders. He was long gone, probably before I even landed in Kirkwall.” The tears ran down her face, unchecked, tracking icy trails upon her skin, and the despair started whispering one more time.

“He loved you,” the stranger next to her claimed and demanded, “Did you love him?”

“Not the way he wanted,” Hawke finally managed to pull away and stepped to her balcony doors, and leaned up against them, letting the breeze from outside hit her face and dry her cheeks. “But I’ve spent years grieving the man he must have been before he allowed vengeance to control him.” Her words were pointed. “I have no desire to grieve for another man for the exact same reason. It‘s best to assume he never existed at all.”

“I am not…” Sebastian swallowed hard. “I… I have regrets,” his rolled ‘r’ spread across her ears like music.  And she resisted the desire to close her eyes to listen to it.  The despair would just be louder.  “Perhaps I should go pray.”

“Quite honestly,” Hawke replied bluntly, “I think you’ve prayed enough. How many times did you pray to Andraste to bless your march on Kirkwall? How many times, Sebastian?” She took a deep breath. “The worst sort of monster is the one who does wrong believing that he is completely in the right.” She turned and faced him. “You’ve turned into that man. I don’t even know you. Now, please, leave my room. I’ll be gone from Starkhaven in the morning, and I’ll have Varric send a… ‘retinue’, I believe you called it? - to finish his demands. I was not the right person for this job. I should never have come.”

“You are the only woman for this job,” Sebastian crossed the room and took her by the shoulders. “No one else would have made me admit…”

“All the more reason to be ashamed, then!” Hawke hissed. “That it took me, one with more blood on her hands than anyone in the Free Marches…” she backed off. “Just leave, Sebastian,” she whispered trying to stifle the pressing whispers. “I’m broken. You’re broken. There’s nothing left to fix.”

“Marian, you can’t mean that. You are… you are everything I remembered. I‘ve never stopped…”

“I’m nothing like who I used to be,” she sighed. “I’ve been hiding all my life, Sebastian. You have no idea what that is like. And now I have a chance to stop running, and be myself, in a place that loves me, or at least the idea of me. Give me one good reason I should give that up to be with you, in a city that will despise me for a gift I have no power over because their god tells them to.” She shook her head. “I’ll be gone in the morning. Good-bye, Sebastian.” She crossed the room and took her bags out of the wardrobe.

“I’m not giving up, Marian,” Sebastian’s mouth was a hard line. “I’ll follow you to Kirkwall. Make you listen.” He crossed again and pulled her to face him, drawing her close with more tenderness than she would have expected, given their recent arguments, and then closing his eyes, he kissed her softly.

He might as well have been kissing a slab of his beloved marble, for all the warmth he got out of it. Hawke allowed herself a brief moment to appreciate the sensation of his lips upon hers, and then pulled away and laughed in his face. “And risk being shot on sight? Varric has no love for you.”

“I’ll abdicate,” he flung back. “My cousin may be dimwitted, but better an honest halfwit than a man who used to be wise.” That made her roll her eyes in disbelief. “You don’t believe me.”

“You can’t abandon your city now,” she answered, still flinging things pell-mell into her bags. “Maybe now - if you’ve really woken up - you’ll do a bloody better job.” She finished, stuffing the last of her clothes into the small compartments. “I’m going to use a horse. I’ll have it sent back as soon as I find a replacement. The nag that brought me here has probably been put out to pasture.” She shoved past him.

“Just wait, Marian,” Sebastian caught her hand. “I will find a way to make you believe me. Wait in Kirkwall. I’ll follow you there.” She twisted away and left the building to find the stables.

It took two days of solid travel before the demons stopped muttering. Rage, Despair and Desire.

***

Cassandra sat back with a sigh, and Hawke shifted, waiting for the questions that would follow. “That is very sad,” she said softly. “I would have hoped for better from Brother Sebastian.”

“Me too,” Hawke replied quietly, but smiled cheerfully, knowing what came next.

“The catch, Hawke,” Aveline reminded her. “What have you done to us now?”

There was a knock at the door, and Bran came in, a look of shock on his face. “Hello, Bran!” Hawke greeted him. “Let me guess - a contingent from Starkhaven is at the gates of the Keep, asking to be admitted under a flag of truce?”

He shook his head, shaking slightly. “No, Champion, it’s…” he handed out a silver platter with a single envelope laying on it. “The Prince of Starkhaven is outside the Viscount‘s Keep, with a full entourage, and he gave me this…” Varric grabbed the envelope and ripped it open without a opener, scowling, and then his frown broke open to a hearty chuckle that turned into a full-blown laugh.

“Well, shit, Hawke…” he handed over the letter to let her read it, still laughing. “It appears that you’ve single-handedly conquered Starkhaven. Choir Boy has formally requested permission to fucking _court_ the Champion of Kirkwall, in hopes that it will, and I quote, “help heal the wounds between our cities”. There’s a massive list in there of everything you’ve asked for - as terms of your - and I’m _not_ shitting you - pending ’alliance’.”

“No…” Cassandra grabbed the letter and read it, mouth open, while Aveline looked over her shoulder.

“He even used the nice linen stationery,” Varric wheezed, laughing uncontrollably. “I guess I’m playing the role of your closest male relative? Carver is going to _love_ that… but at least he didn‘t go hunt down Gamlen…” He collapsed into a chair, and grabbed her still unfinished whiskey, drinking it down. “Damn it, Hawke, I wasn’t supposed to have to worry about suitors until Squirt is grown.”

Hawke smiled, triumphant. “Do you mind?”

He looked serious, “Are you going to accept? You two are seriously fucked up, Hawke.”

“So is all of Thedas,” she shrugged. “And before I do anything I’m going to make him earn me, Varric. Kirkwall will never look the same when I’m done. Don’t worry, I’m not rushing into anything. But the Prince of Starkhaven might be in residence for a while.” She sighed, “I know you despise him. You can send him away, if you like. Maybe he can stay at Amell House and I can stay here, so that we are chaperoned? Isn’t that how the good boys and girls do these things?”

Aveline took a drink at the wrong time and blew it through her nose, and had to reach blindly for a napkin to blot at her clothing. “Hawke, you can’t possibly claim to be a good girl.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “I can’t?”

“You can’t,” Cassandra affirmed bluntly, and then smiled. “I would love to be your chaperone. I’ll even leave you alone with him occasionally, as any wise chaperone would do.” She must have looked confused, because Varric clarified.

“She’s a fucking Nevarran princess,” Varric grinned in her direction. “She knows exactly what she’s talking about. I would say you two don’t need a chaperone. You need to be shut in a broom closet together and told not to come out until you’ve…”

Aveline butted in, “Varric!”

Hawke took her glass of whiskey back from Varric and raised the glass. “Let him in, Varric. We might as well begin sooner rather than later.” She took a breath. “But first, who is Squirt?”

At that moment Cassandra stood up for the first time and Hawke realized she was rounder than she should be, and blinked, surprised. “Varric?” She swallowed.

“Hawke, meet Hawke,” Varric smirked. “It’s even a unisex name.”

Hawke stared at Cassandra, dumbfounded, and she blushed. “It is better than any of my names, I assure you,” she said stiffly. “And no, it is not for certain. And no, we are not married. Yet. After Squirt is born. Perhaps. There is no point in rushing into these things.”

“Especially when the cart has already come before the horse,” Varric grinned around his own glass of whiskey, and Hawke lifted her own again. “Besides, every time she passes Bran, he gets horribly grumpy, and then Cass gets mad and she’s even more beautiful when she glares. You can’t pay for that kind of entertainment.”

“To the happy parents,” Hawke laughed, toasted, and swallowed. “Now, the Prince?”

Varric grumbled. “He can stay here. I suppose. But his people need to find someplace else. I’m using most of the spare bedrooms to store books.  I'm not moving them for Starkhaven.”

“I’d better go have Orana air out the house,” Hawke stood, but Aveline waved her down.

“I’ll do it,” she replied. “I have to get back to Donnic anyway. He’s probably thinking I’ve ran into bandits or Carta, and already strapping on his armor to come fetch me.” She pulled Hawke into a tight hug. “It’s good to have you back, Hawke.” Her voice was warmer than her arms, solid and safe. “You make sure that he deserves you.”

“No worries on that count, Aveline,” Hawke smiled in her ear. “I’m not going anywhere for a while. I just got home.”


	4. The Champion's Champion

Varric tossed down the rest of his liquor and stood up. “Well, if we’re going to do this, it ought to be in the Throne Room. But it’s filled with training dummies and targets, and I hate the place. So… staging…” He ran his fingers through his hair to help him think. “Got it. Front Hall. I will enter first… damn it, where is my crown? I’ll need that, Bran, so go get it. After that, let him in, but make them leave their weapons - well, all but his, because, fuck, I’m taking Seeker but damned if I‘ll shoot an unarmed man. Not going to face this asshole without her.” His words halted for a minute, and then started back up. “I’ll go in next, with Cass right behind me. Got your sword handy, babe?”

“Always,” Cassandra replied, her lips twitching.

“Good, let’s intimidate the shit out of him,” Varric grinned. “And then, after I say a few words, Hawke can come in, all pretty and demure,” Hawke made a face at him, “and give her opinion of the whole proceeding.”

“Varric, you know what happens to my plans,” Hawke started.

“That’s why this is my plan, not yours,” Varric protested. “When he gets all huffy and insulted, you can step in and tell him what you want him to do. He probably wants to do something insipid like follow you around and stare at your ass, and dance politely at parties. But I haven’t thrown a single ball since I got this job, and I’m not going to start now.”

“Actually, I have the perfect thing for him to start with,” Hawke smirked a bit. “Aveline will be sorry she went home.”

***

Varric stepped out on the landing above the Starkhaven party like a very short emperor, complete with his golden crown. “Prince Vael,” he managed not to grin, “I was surprised by your presence in my city, considering your recent incursions.” Cassandra stepped to his side, obviously pregnant, but still managing to wear half her armor and look deadly, even while she glowed. “I don’t believe you’ve met my betrothed, Cassandra Pentaghast?”

“I have not,” the Prince bowed politely. “My lady, your reputation precedes you. I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

Cassandra flushed, and Varric frowned at her response, “Yes, well, let’s get on with it,” she replied bluntly.

“Are you willing to entertain my proposals?” The Prince stood back up straight.

“That’s for the Champion to decide,” Varric said steadily. “I’m not in the habit of marrying people off for politics. It seems - inadvisable. Especially since, back in the day, you two managed to argue over about half her decisions. And then you invaded. I have a few words I’d like to say about that,” Varric admitted, “but I won’t in front of Cassandra. She wouldn’t approve of my language, and my child‘s in there. It’d be nice if Squirt didn’t come out cussing.”

The prince turned red, “Yes, well, it has been pointed out to me that I have some sins to atone for,” he admitted. “And that is why I am here.”

“That’s not exactly right, the way I understand it,” Varric leaned over the banister and looked down at him deliberately. “Your missive said you were here to court her. I’m not inclined to particularly wish you luck with that, but you’ll definitely need it.”

“Yes, well, I need to start there, if I’m going to…”

Varric barked a bitter laugh, “Knock off the act, Choir Boy. You’re here because you want her, and you can’t have her.”

If it was possible, the Prince flushed further, and tightened his fists. “Is that so?”

“I make my own decisions, Viscount Tethras,” Hawke entered at that moment, clothes straightened and generally tidied, though not precisely pulled together. “Prince Vael,” she said, as she took her place at Varric’s left hand. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I told you I’d come, Champion.” He bowed again.

“Yes, well, you aren’t known for keeping your word,” Hawke pointed out cruelly. “You said you wanted to court me. What did you have in mind, precisely?”

“Whatever the Champion wishes,” Sebastian said unwisely, and knelt, laying the Starkhaven bow before her, and his arrows as well. “I walk only where she would bid me, sing only the words she puts in my throat,” he announced clearly. “My people are here to witness my vow.”

Cassandra audibly gasped and Varric scowled again at her reactions. “I’m not sure what good that vow is here, Vael. I‘m pretty sure that the Champion doesn‘t need a Champion.”

“I would say that is for the Champion to decide,” Sebastian said, looking up at her beseechingly. “I ask only the chance to prove myself.”

“You make guilt a hobby, Choir Boy,” Varric sighed. “It’s up to Hawke, then. Hawke?”

“Your people will not arm themselves in this city while they stay,” Hawke declared. “If they touch a weapon, the guard has permission to kill them, no questions asked. Tomorrow, you, and all your entourage will report to Hightown, and will start assisting with clean up outside of the Blooming Rose. You will start your ‘courtship’ with getting your hands dirty cleaning up a portion of the mess that you helped create. They will stay at Amell House, and you will remain here. My home will be guarded, to protect them from angry Kirkwallers. If they misbehave in any fashion, they, and you, will be evicted immediately, and no further communication will take place. Any governing you need to accomplish during your time here will be done under supervision from either the Captain of the Guard, Seeker Pentaghast, Viscount Tethras, or myself.”

“As my lady wishes,” Sebastian replied easily.

“And let me make this clear,” Hawke stepped forward, letting her magic flare from her fingertips, “I am _not_ yours. You, and your people, will address me as Champion. We have no set agreement, I am not accepting your offer, and whether I do in the future depends entirely on your behavior, and that of the people you have brought with you.”

“That is fair,” Sebastian replied, without even a raised eyebrow. “We will conduct ourselves appropriately, Champion.”

“Viscount Tethras,” Hawke replied, not taking her eyes away from the man still kneeling on the floor, “I do believe a suitor needs a room, and his companions a guarded escort to my personal residence.” She immediately walked out, heading back into the Viscount’s private rooms. She didn’t look back to see if he finally stood up.

Varric knocked on her door an hour later, chuckling in amusement. “Shit, Hawke, he knelt there until Cass went down there and hauled him up. You sure you don’t want to just kill him now?”

“No,” Hawke smiled, ‘Because then that sinkhole outside of the Rose won’t get filled. And Sebastian is going to help us do just that.” She sighed, “Varric, did any mages stay in the city besides me?”

“Fuck no,” Varric shook his head. “You didn’t either, after all. They’re all long gone, Hawke, and Darktown is empty - we had to evacuate everyone when the city started caving in. If there is anyone still left, they’re hidden really, really well, and I’m not going to screw that up for them.”

“I see…” Hawke took a deep breath. “Well, at least that explains why I’m getting so much attention from the other side. There’s no competition to speak of.”

“Hawke…” Varric’s eyes were wide. “You hearing voices?”

“Almost constantly,” she gritted her teeth. “I’m in control, for now.”

“Hawke, what are they?”

“That’s a very private question, Viscount Tethras,” Hawke deflected.

“What are they?” Cassandra stalked in, arms folded, and Hawke sighed, defeated in the stalwart presence of the Seeker.

She closed her eyes. “At the moment? Rage and Desire. Tack Despair up there with the most recent appearances, however.”

Varric grinned, “You need to get laid. I’m sure Choir Boy’d do anything you asked. Want me to fetch him?”

“No,” Hawke clenched her fists. “Thank you, Varric, but that will not help. Not now.”

“Wish Cole was here,” Varric sighed, “He was awfully handy to have around in these sort of situations.”

“He was… Compassion?” Hawke asked, trying to remember.

“Yep,” Varric smiled sadly. “He’s out traveling around Thedas with his lady friend. He helped. He earned a vacation.”

“But not Fear?” Cassandra clarified.

“No,” Hawke shifted with the realization, “But that’s an interesting point. Why not Fear?”

“You are not scared,” the Seeker observed.

“I’m always scared,” Hawke marveled. “It’s the single most prevalent demon I’ve ever dealt with. Ever since my magic manifested back in Ferelden.”

“It’s because you’re safe here,” Varric said quietly. “You’re home.” His eyes met hers, and he grabbed the Seeker’s hand and towed her out of the room. “Come on, Cass. Let her get some sleep.”

 


	5. Where My Demons Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Imagine Dragon's 'Demons'.
> 
> In my little lists of notes, different demons manifest themselves in waking hours in different ways. Rage roars, Desire purrs and eventually rumbles, Despair shrieks.
> 
> Fear whimpers.

The next knock was somewhat predictable, and Hawke groaned as she shifted herself off the bed where she was staring into the fire, trying to talk herself into going to sleep. “Yes, Sebastian?” she sighed as she opened the door.

“How did you know…”

Hawke just shook her head, “I assumed you’d have words for me after that… performance of yours. What were you thinking, making that kind of vow? I could ask you to do horrible things!”

“But you won’t,” Sebastian leaned against the wall, a little too relaxed. “Despite what you say, you are not without a moral compass, Marian.” She curled up on the end of the bed facing the fireplace.

“Could have fooled me,” she whispered at last. “Did you know that since I entered Starkhaven I’ve been hearing demons nearly constantly?”

“You’re strong, Hawke,” he said, only slightly uncomfortable. “You won’t entertain them.” He paused, “What kind of demons?”

“Everyone wants to know what kind. Like that isn’t a massive invasion of privacy.” Hawke sighed, and answered, “Rage, Despair…” Hawke took a deep breath and stared at him, letting him see the heat behind her eyes, “and Desire, Sebastian. It’s not exactly safe for you to be in here, right now. In most cases, Seeker Pentaghast is going to act as our chaperone. She’ll keep you safe,” her throat constricted.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Sebastian said softly. “Not like that, anyway. You never needed a Templar to keep yourself or anyone else safe, Marian.  You don't need a Seeker.”

“Yes, well, I’m not used to these kind of demons, either,” Hawke sighed, and curled back up on the bed, her knees under her chin, staring back into the fire. “It was almost always Fear before.”

“Fear is a powerful demon to conquer,” Sebastian stepped through the door and shut it. “What are Rage and Despair compared to it?”

“Nothing,” Hawke replied, quite comfortably, “At least, not now that I’m surrounded by people that can simultaneously talk me down and off the ledge. Desire on the other hand is proving to be extremely difficult. I really think you should go.”

“I’m not running away, Hawke,” Sebastian sighed. “Is there something I can do?”

Hawke laughed, a brief trill. “Nothing you’re willing to try.”

Sebastian stepped closer, “You could try me,” he said, deep in his throat. “I’m not only here for an alliance, Marian. I could make one of those with Antiva.”

“Careful what you offer, Sebastian,” Marian whispered. “I don’t have a lot of self control. Not like you. I’m all impulse.” She tightened her arms around her legs, trying to will the purring away. “You should go,” she said one more time.

“Is that what the Champion wants?” Sebastian asked quietly.

“No,” she whispered, “but you should, all the same. Please.”

“Certainly,” he sighed. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Hawke closed her eyes, “Yes,” she replied, begging the purring in her ears to stop. “I will see you tomorrow. Assuming I haven’t been possessed, anyway. I’m not exactly willing to fall asleep right now.”

“Then I’m not going,” Sebastian replied. “Not until you’re sure you have it under control.” He pulled up a chair from beside her fire and sat down on it backwards. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hawke laughed again, “Sebastian, when we’ve tried talking about anything in the past we’ve either ended up disagreeing violently, or it culminates in me wanting to press you up against a wall and see what is under that ridiculous armor.”

“And I think that is the first time I’ve heard you admit that we don’t precisely talk well,” Sebastian smiled wistfully. “It would be nice if we could change that, however.”

“Which one?” Hawke laughed, the purring increasing in intensity and making her eyes blur.

“The former,” Sebastian sighed, “Because if you only knew how many times I had to pray for hours after one of our… discussions… you'd know I wasn't really interested in stopping the latter.”

“I wondered,” Hawke tilted her head at him. “I wasn’t really sure… even after you sort of proposed but not really.” They stared at each other in mutual amusement for a moment, listening to the fire snap and crackle before someone knocked.

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Come in!”

Cassandra angled herself through the door. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need my assistance,” she said stiffly. “I do have a job to perform, after all.”

“We’re just talking,” Hawke said quietly, “But if you wanted to stay, you would be welcome. The demons are a bit loud, at the moment, Seeker. I won’t be sleeping for a while.”

“That’s not necessary,” Sebastian cleared his throat. “I will stay, and let you know if… but Hawke has amazing control. We will just talk until she is comfortable and then I will leave.”

Cassandra humphed irritably. “You really don’t understand, do you? Your presence is causing this… attention.”

“Seeker,” Hawke sighed, “I think he understands. I just… I have to get used to fighting them off, and it’s a little hard to practice when they aren’t talking to me at all.”

The Seeker’s concerned face cleared, “Oh, I see. That… makes sense,” she said slowly. “Practice. Training…”

“I always assumed that was what Harrowings were about,” Hawke admitted. “I don’t know for sure, obviously, but…”

The Seeker cleared her throat, “Well, if you need me, you know where to find me.” She smiled, “Enjoy your talk.” She softly closed her door behind her.

“So you can’t let them control you, but you have to subject yourself to them all the same,” Sebastian said in wonder, “Blessed Maker, Hawke, you’re even stronger than I realized.” He rested his hands on the back of the chair. “Do you hear them constantly?”

“No,” Hawke paled, “Thank the Maker. But when I get upset, beyond the norm, or tempted…” she swallowed hard, looking at his lips, and remembering the feel of them, when she had repelled him, and then pulled her eyes away to stare at the fire again. “Meditation helps. My father,” her breath caught, “my father taught me that. He said that I had to learn control, or I would be overcome.” She sobbed a small laugh, “Bethany was far better at that than I was, but she was a natural healer. I can’t heal at all, but I can raze a forest with a gesture.” She leaned her head sideways on her knees and looked back at him. “You would have liked my sister. She should have been the Champion, not me. Nothing would have ended up in ashes and rubble with her in charge.”  She felt the slight touch of the Despair again and shuddered.

“I doubt that,” Sebastian said gently, and went on, quietly. “Your father must have managed his desires, to have three children.”

Hawke trilled again, remembering, “My parents were disgusting! They made each other ridiculously happy, and even when my mother was complaining - which was often - he could always make her smile.”

“That’s a rare marriage,” Sebastian observed. “They were blessed.”

“Yes,” Hawke fully smiled, “They were. As far as the demons, go, however, I ran into them a few times in Ferelden, when I was going through puberty, you understand, and experimenting, but they were simple to dispel with…” she hesitated. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my past escapades.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Will I have to pray afterward?” He met her eyes again, and the purring intensified to a rumble in her mind and she flinched. “Hawke?”

“I’m all right,” she focused. “It’s just that… apparently that particular demon wanted me to make you have to pray,” she admitted. “Rather a lot.”

“It’s not a hardship,” Sebastian offered. “I’ll pray all you like, if it helps.”

“It’s not the praying it wanted,” Hawke laughed, “It was what came before the praying,” her voice was teasing now, but she felt more in control again, and the demon was quieting, oddly enough, with the admission. “That’s odd,” she said slowly.

“What is?” Sebastian seemed intense and focused, staring at her.

“Admitting that aloud… it’s almost quiet now.” She took a breath, relieved. “I was beginning to think I’d be up all night listening to it.” She paused, “I think I’ll be all right now,” she told him firmly. “So it would be best if you go. I’m still angry with you, but I’m not hearing Rage and I don’t feel like conquering all my demons in a single night. I would like to sleep at some point.”

“If that’s what you want,” Sebastian stood up and pushed his chair back against the wall. “Marian…” he hesitated briefly, “I wouldn’t mind hearing about what you had to do to make the Desire demons go away,” he said quietly. “Even if I do have to pray afterward.”

Hawke laughed again, slightly huskily, “Keep that up and you’ll definitely be praying, Sebastian,” she admitted, “Not for my sins, but for your own.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps,” he smiled, and opened the door. “For now, though, I think I’ll just think about when you’ll let me kiss you again, and hope it will be better than the last one.”

“That kiss doesn’t count,” Hawke said bluntly. “I wasn’t trying to do anything but ignore a despair demon.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows, “Is that so?” He stepped outside the door, “Well, that gives me something to think about, then.”

Hawke leaned back on her hands on the bed and dropped her legs off the edge. “Sebastian Vael,” she said deliberately, “If there is a next time you are allowed to kiss me, your lips will tingle with the sparks from my tongue, and the heat from my fire will try to consume you. You should hope that my force magic doesn’t come out to play, however, because that’s when you will end up against a wall.” She smiled wickedly, “And that’s what happens when I’m in control - as in, just a kiss. Control during sex is extremely difficult.”

Sebastian was breathing rather shakily, “As I said, something to think about. Goodnight, Champion.” He started to close the door, and then stopped. “I don’t suppose we could try that now?”

“Go away, Sebastian,” Hawke said, climbing under her covers. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If I’m not furious with you again by then. That is extremely likely.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making a massive assumption at this point that with the taking back of Starkhaven Sebastian has abandoned his vow to stay celibate. He still feels guilty about it, like just about every other choice he's made in his life. It's rather likely, that in the last three years, Hawke has had partners, but Sebastian has not. However, I do not believe that he is a virgin. All that 'wild boy' talk, probably, even though he was all of 13 when he was sent to the Chantry.
> 
> As the Chantry section in the World of Thedas Vol. 1 says: "In the Chantry, guilt is a virtue."


	6. Penance

The next day, Hawke ate her breakfast in her room mentally reciting every single thing, real and imagined, that Sebastian Vael had done or attempted to do to herself or people she cared about. It was quite a list, but the anger was harder to tap today, and she knew why.

The only person she was angry at today was herself, for not standing firm. She had let him come in, and she couldn’t afford that weakness.

Even though, without him being there, she probably would have been up fighting Desire for most of the night. It was too complicated, it was making her headache worse, and she drank her strong coffee too fast, and ended up burning her throat and tongue. Coughing hoarsely, she shrugged into her oldest robes and walked out of her room, just to run into her possibly least tolerant-of-Sebastian friend.

“I am here to escort you to the Blooming Rose,” Aveline said bitterly. “The Viscount requested me personally, as he didn’t want Cassandra to have to be on her feet all day watching you and Sebastian not flirt. But for the record, the Captain of the Guard has better things to do than watch a hole get filled with dirt and rocks.”

“Yes, well, I don’t intend to let them do all the work,” Hawke smiled, “Especially since I can easily do it myself in a few days. But I want to make them get sweaty and uncomfortable. Penance, Aveline.” She patted her friend’s shoulder, “It’s a beautiful thing.”

“If it’s penance then why are you going to help them?” Aveline matched her stride evenly, years of keeping up aiding the ease of walking.

“Because it’s my fault, too,” Hawke replied, feeling a shriek of Despair run down her spine. “You and Varric have already served your time.”

“Hawke,” Aveline rolled her eyes, “Are you sentencing yourself to community service?”

She paused, thinking, and then kept walking. “I suppose I am. Besides, if I keep busy it will prevent me from finding the Hanging Man again and drinking too much. I really have to quit. I think it affects my control, and I’ve spent most of the last few years at least partially drunk, Aveline. Idle hands and the mischief from the Void, and all that.” She stopped, and asked shyly, “Varric told me that every mage left the city. Is Merrill gone then?”

“Oh no, Hawke,” Aveline stopped walking. “After that book everyone in Thedas knows that Merrill is a blood mage! She can hardly leave the house! I won‘t let you make her come out and help you. Besides, she‘s a stabilizing influence in the alienage. She‘s practically a Keeper there. You‘d be proud of her.”

Hawke sighed, disappointed, “I’ll have to visit her later then, let her know I’m back. I’ve missed her. And I bet she’d have advice about all these demons that keep chattering at me. It’s sort of her specialty.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Aveline sighed, “I’ll take you myself, after we get this over with. The alienage is just as dangerous as ever, as much as we try to keep that from happening.” Her lips twitched, “Hawke, if you want to help out, I’ll make you a list of things that would be much, much easier with a mage’s assistance.”

Hawke stopped in her tracks and hugged her friend suddenly. “Thank you, thank you,” she choked, and then realized that Despair had started dimly shrieking again and pulled back. “Damn it,” she sighed. “I guess it was too much to ask for a day’s break.”

“Hawke?”

“Despair, Aveline,” Hawke started walking faster, letting her boots hit the pavement in a rush. “They just won’t shut up.”

Aveline shook her head and nearly ran to keep up.

The sinkhole outside the Blooming Rose was a complete disaster, cracked and broken stone slabs collapsing into Darktown, and then Darktown into a portion of the Deep Roads. “Well, that’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Sebastian said dryly. “Time to start work, boys. Grab a shovel? And Marcus - help me shove this piece of masonry in. The more bigger pieces that we can use the better, I’d imagine.”

Hawke watched him warily from behind one of the Rose’s front pillars.

“Aren’t you going to let him know you’re here?” Aveline asked, confused.

Hawke grinned, “Aveline, when you wanted to court Donnic, you made me deliver copper marigolds and take out bandits on the Storm Coast so that you could babble on to him about blades.  Do you really think either of us are socially competent?”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Aveline sighed. “It would be easier if you’d just let me go get you a few goats and a sheaf of wheat.  The Fereldan way is easier.”

“His mother is dead,” Hawke deadpanned. “You really weren’t paying attention back then, were you?” She paused, “How is Donnic, by the way?”

“He’s wonderful,” Aveline’s face stretched into a wide smile. “He won’t let me promote him, though. Says he wouldn’t be able to concentrate knowing my office was right next door to his. He’s a good man, and better off on the beat, I suppose.”

“Tell him I said hello,” Hawke leaned out from around the pillar, “And tell him that I owe him an ale, for making you so happy, but that I probably won’t be getting him one any time soon.”

“You’re serious,” Aveline said, surprised. “You’re really going to stop drinking. Hawke, for as long as I’ve known you…”

“We all have to grow up sometime,” Hawke shrugged. “And quite honestly, in the last three years I’ve faced a Nightmare demon, met a lyrium corrupted dragon and ridden over most of Thedas, from Crestwood to the Western Approach and north to Weisshaupt and then east to Starkhaven. I’m ready to settle down a bit. Live a slightly more boring life.”

“The day you have a boring life is the day I retire,” Aveline contradicted. “You weren’t made for it.” She leaned out. “Oh, Hawke,” she hummed, “You’re going to want to see this.” Hawke obediently peeked out.

“Merciful Maker,” Hawke prayed, her throat constricted. The Prince of Starkhaven was sweating, and pulling off his cotton shirt over his head, showing a perfectly sculpted abdomen and chest, and a line of reddish blond hair dipping from his navel to beneath his breeches. The Desire demon started up almost immediately, and Hawke bit back a curse. “That… that should be against the law,” she muttered. “Aveline, is there a law?”

“No, that’s the sort of thing Kirkwall should encourage,” Aveline hummed, “Look at those arms, Hawke!” She bent over for a better view. “I am so glad Donnic is patrolling the Wounded Coast today. If he had been available Varric might have agreed to let him do this.”

“Aveline!” Hawke giggled.

“What?” Her friend shot her a glance. “Oh, they’re all doing it. Maker’s Breath, did he pick his people based on their muscles? Nothing this side of the Golden City should be so… pretty.” She shook her head. “He’s a redhead. He’s going to end up with such a sunburn.” Her mouth twisted, in humor, “I’ll send you home to the Keep with a jar of aloe salve for him. He’s going to need it.  If you're nice to him maybe he'll let you apply it.”  Hawke hit her, without much effect on the heavily armored woman.

Sebastian wiped his forehead, his hair prickly with sweat, with his shirt and picked back up his shovel, and bent over to use it as a lever to hoist another large piece of rubble into the hole. Hawke’s eyebrows raised almost painfully high, and a squeak emerged. “Aveline, look at his…”

“I know,” hissed her friend. “Hawke, I can’t watch this for much longer. Donnic will never forgive me for ogling like this.” Hawke nodded, in breathless awe.

“Let’s get them some… water or something,” she said, breathlessly. “Surely they won’t be so… pretty, if they know we’re watching?”

“Varric was sending some, and having lunch sent over as well,” Aveline shook her head. “We’re just going to have to go out there, Hawke, there’s no help for it. I’m supposed to be supervising, and you’re already late.”

The windows of the Blooming Rose opened and various voices started to call down appreciatively, making similar comments and propositions involving holes that needed to be filled.

“Sorry, ladies,” Sebastian replied, “We are otherwise occupied for our time in the city. I hope you can forgive us.”

“Mmm, Starkhaven,” tittered one of the women, “You can invade me anytime, love.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Sebastian replied politely, “But that’s the reason I’m in trouble. I’m afraid I’ve learned that particular lesson.” He scraped his shovel to push the rubble into the hole and looked up at the sky. “No more invasions from Starkhaven.”

Hawke frowned, and stepped out from behind the pillar, and stalked over. “Hawke, what are you doing?” Aveline hissed, but she followed her out, not even trying to hide where she had come from.

“Champion!” Sebastian was surprised and happy to see her. “Where did you come from?”

“Maker’s Breath, the Champion, too?! Welcome home!  It's just like Satinalia!”  The wit from the Rose waved a scarf in greeting.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen, if you would give us a minute,” Hawke tried to control her breathing. “Prince Vael,” she said evenly, if stiffly. “You are going to get a sunburn.” 

“Probably not,” smiled the man. “I spend a lot of time in the sun.”

“Without a shirt?” Hawke cleared her throat, “I find that unlikely.”

“You were only in my home for a few days, Champion,” the archer smiled slyly. “Hardly enough time to observe all my… movements. My comings and goings. While training, I often strip - unless I’m working on endurance. Stamina, Champion, is important.”  The purring in Hawke's brain intensified - nearly painfully.

“I require you to put back on your shirt,” Hawke insisted. “Now.”

“Very well,” Sebastian smiled, and picked it back up and pulled it back on, while Hawke tried to look anywhere but at his chest. “But I suggest that you find a better place to watch, Champion. We’re going to be here for a while.”

“What makes you think I was watching?” Hawke sputtered, and tried to regain her control.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “You’re more flushed than I am. You might want to find a spot in the shade.”

“The Viscount is sending water,” Aveline saved her friend from immolation from embarrassment, just in time. “And something to eat will be sent along eventually.”

“Tell him we are grateful,” Sebastian started moving again. “It’s pleasant to see you, again, Guard Captain. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the trouble I caused you, and compliment you on your wonderful defense. It was most impressive.”

“Well, the Inquisition helped,” Aveline justified. “But… thank you.” She paused, “Was it your idea to infiltrate using those Darktown tunnels by the docks?”

“It was,” Sebastian replied willingly enough. “I’m assuming you’ve already had them closed off, since the attack?”

“Of course,” Aveline frowned. “Do you realize how many people died in that invasion?”

“All too well,” Sebastian looked up, seriously, “I have many regrets, and my apologies will never be enough, I know.”

“Good,” Aveline shifted back. “I accept your apologies, for what they are worth. Watch the entitlement, while you are here.”

“I am entitled to nothing while I am here,” Sebastian said softly. “That was made quite clear.” Hawke felt a stab of guilt, which she stifled quickly, and he kept working while she made her way to the shade.

A woman and several other followers bustled up soon afterward, carrying several large baskets and a huge covered bucket. “I have lunch,” she announced, in a common Starkhaven accent.

Sebastian blinked in surprise. “You’re from…”

“And what of it?” She asked stiffly. “I’ve been told that you are here to pay for your crimes. My husband died when you invaded. I won’t see you starve, Your Highness, but you’ll get no special treatment from me. If it were up to me I’d shut you in the Gallows.” She shifted on her feet. “Course, it’s none so bad now that Red Meredith isn’t up there any longer,” she admitted. “Almost just another building, but… still, bad memories.” She shook the water dipper at him. “You’re lucky the Viscount’s letting the Champion handle this. Because I know about a dozen people that would happily string you up and let you take a short drop.”

“Madam, I understand completely,” Sebastian sighed. “I thank you for the water.”

Chastened, he went back to work.

Just after midday, Hawke pitched in, concentrating on the rubble still strewn everywhere from the Chantry explosion and lifting it into the air piece by piece, and then letting it settle gently into the sinkhole, gradually increasing its natural gravity until she was sure it was going to hold, and then starting on the next. The Starkhaven men gawped, and one complained, “Magic is meant to serve man…”

“And that’s exactly what she’s doing,” Sebastian bit out. “Service. There will be none of that while you are here. Is that clear?!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man started digging again. “Though why she needs us to fill holes if she can do it herself so handily I don’t know.”

“Many hands make light work,” Hawke proclaimed. “And, thanks to my limitations, I can’t do this all day, just as you will not be able to lift that shovel for much longer. But I will help, because, in my way, I’m just as responsible for my city being destroyed.”

“Be grateful,” Sebastian told his man quietly. “She’s wrong, she doesn’t have to help at all. None of this was her fault.”

“On that, Prince Vael, we do agree,” Aveline said, sighing. “But she's determined to pay for it anyway.  Hawke, if you want to visit Merrill, we’re going to have to go soon, or it will be dark when we get back.”

“Merrill is still here?” Sebastian was startled. “I was sure…”

“Merrill is safer here,” Aveline said softly. “After Varric’s book, and the mage rebellion, she was at too much risk from rogue Templars for us to do anything else.” Sebastian nodded in understanding.

“I need to stop anyway,” Hawke sighed. “I’m almost depleted. Aveline, can you at least tell me that we’re not likely to get attacked between here and the alienage if I’m out of mana?”

“Unless the Carta is stirred up, yes,” Aveline said shortly. “And you’re with me, which should keep your pocket from being picked. Unless we run into your uncle, who I have no doubt will try to take you for everything you have on you.”

Hawke laughed, “Just as well my pockets are empty.”

Sebastian rolled a laugh, deep in his chest. “That won’t last. You’ll pick up a ring, or a worn scarf, or something worse by the time you get there.” He stopped again, and looked her in the eye, “Just don’t explore any wyvern poo?”

“They don’t live in the city,” Hawke brushed off, but gave him a small grin at the reminder of one of their more successful adventures. “At least so far. Now that I’m back, things could change.”

“You do attract trouble, Champion,” Sebastian observed. “As well as other things.” He paused, “Enjoy your visit.”

 


	7. Misery Loves Company

“Sebastian’s _here_?” Merrill’s eyes were wide. “Don’t get me wrong, Hawke, it’s lovely to see you, but I never thought, after the invasion that he’d come _back_ …”

“It was horribly romantic,” Hawke elaborated, “We ran across the room and flung ourselves into each other’s arms.”

Aveline snorted, “If by flinging yourself you mean fireballs at the gates of his palace.”

Merrill frowned, “He hasn’t been a very nice person. I‘ve been quite angry at him. Why, by Fen‘Harel‘s tooth, would he ever come back _here?_ ”

“You’re telling me he hasn‘t been nice,” Hawke sighed. “But we’ll see why he came, I‘m sure.” Away from the physical labor, the Rage demon was louder again. “Merrill, I have a mage question for you. Are you hearing a lot of chatter from the other side? Because I can barely sleep since I got here.”

“Oh, it’s not just me?!” Merrill clapped her hands together. “Most of the mages left, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I think the Veil is thinner here than ever, Hawke. I can feel them pushing at me.” She frowned. “What’s talking to you?”

“Everybody asks that question,” grumbled Hawke. “It’s a very personal question.”

“It’s Desire,” Aveline told Merrill. “And Rage and Despair.”

“Oh, Hawke,” Merrill rubbed her back gently. “Despair? But you’ve done so many good things.”

“Yes, yes, less pity and more solving of the chattery demon problem,” Hawke spat out and immediately regretted talking to her sweet blood mage friend that way. “I… haven’t had to deal with many, honestly, Merrill, other than Fear. I was hoping you’d have some advice.”

“Rage speaks when I’m angry,” Merrill said simply. “But there is Righteous anger, as well as Rage. Two sides to the same coin. I find if I can figure out if I’m angry for a good reason or not it makes a difference if it can influence me.”

“Oh, I have excellent reasons, all summed up in the simple form of one former brother,” Hawke bantered, trying to sound merry.

“Are you still angry because he wouldn’t sleep with you?” Merrill looked confused, “That’s a very long time to hold onto that particular grudge, Hawke. It’s only sex.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” grumbled Hawke.

“I doubt it,” Merrill replied. “That’s probably the root of the Desire, too. If your anger is that tied to one person.” She leaned in, “He’s not possessed or in thrall, is he?”

“I’m fairly sure he isn’t,” Hawke said, laughing. “Can you imagine? Sebastian dressed like a Desire demon? He’d look ridiculous. More ridiculous than usual!”

“Well, good! Because then it _would_ get complicated,” beamed the sunny elf. “They all have two sides, though, Hawke. Desire and Need, Hope and Despair, and Rage and Righteous Anger.” She shrugged.

“Need, not Love?” Hawke asked thoughtfully.

“Well, that’s the trick,” Merrill instructed wisely, “It all depends on the Desire. A person wanting money needs enough to survive, but wants riches. A person wanting intimacy, needs love but craves sex. Desire is far more complex than most people realize. A person who wants control of their destiny, needs empowerment but craves the power to do whatever they want. Most of them never even realize they are being influenced. You should know this, Hawke, you were at the Harriman Estate.” She frowned, “Unless you are dealing with Imshael. I’ve been writing to a few other elven mages and two of them ran into him before the second defeated him. He seems like something different. But all demons work the same way. Despair would be countered by something that inspires hope. Rage… by something that takes away the anger or… perhaps something that purifies it. But are you so sure that you aren‘t experiencing Righteous Anger? Because quite honestly, he‘s…”

“Andraste’s Ass, Merrill, that’s brilliant!” Hawke’s smile lit up her face. “So, the reason Despair has barely touched me today is that I was doing repair work on something that I damaged. And last night, when Sebastian was in my room…” her words trailed off, and she looked at Aveline guiltily.

“Go on, Hawke,” Aveline drawled. “I’m not surprised.”

“We only talked, and didn’t argue,” Hawke justified. “We flirted a little bit. Just a little, Aveline, I swear. And the Rage has been far better today, probably because of that too. I had to remind myself of all the horrible things he has done this morning, the asshole.”

“You talked,” Merrill looked surprised. “You didn’t argue? That’s a first.”

“It’s better than that, Merrill,” Aveline nudged the mage, “She claims she’s going to stop drinking.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Merrill said, unusually bluntly. “But I wish you luck.”

***

Hawke entered her room in the Keep, thoughtful and refreshed from the enlightening conversation with Merrill, but determined not to go seeking Sebastian. She didn’t need to see him, she needed to sit down to a nice dinner with her best friend, chat with the Seeker about a day moving rocks, and imagine that she hadn’t effectively drug Sebastian back into her life kicking and screaming, possibly against her will.

Her resolve to have a pleasant evening lasted until she sat down at the table and the servant poured her a glass of wine.

“Damn it,” Hawke said out loud and stared at it helplessly.

“You okay, Hawke?” Varric looked worried.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s just… Varric, is there something else I could drink? I’m… trying to stop - that,” she flicked a finger at the glass deliberately.

“Whoa,” Varric whistled. “Yeah, I’m sure we have something else. Cass isn’t drinking at all. We’ll get that taken away, and… wait. Is this about Choir Boy?” He looked suspicious.

“Not at all,” Hawke sighed, “I knew you were going to assume that. I just… I thought maybe the demonic attention and my own control might improve without it. But it’s been a very long time since I went even a full day without a drink of some sort and so…”

“Are you having withdrawals?” Cassandra set her fork down primly. “Because I have some recent experience in…”

“No!” Hawke exclaimed. “I don’t think its that bad. I just… I’m tired of drowning… well, all my shit… and thought perhaps that I should start dealing with some of it instead.”

At that point, some of the shit in question walked in, and received a massive glare from his host. “I’m sorry,” he apologized at once. “I merely assumed… I shouldn’t have assumed that I would have been eating with… the family,” he concluded weakly. “Where should I eat, Viscount Tethras?”

“You can eat with us if the Champion says it is acceptable,” Varric threatened with heavy brows. “But don’t push your luck.”

“Varric!” Cassandra glared, “You are being rude.”

“Yeah, well, he was rude first. When he invaded,” grumbled Varric, playing with his table knife absentmindedly. “And possibly his very existence in my life is rude. Just when my life was getting better, he had to drop back into it.”

Hawke sighed and rested her head on the back of her chair. “On the other hand, leave the wine,” she slumped backward, defeated, with her legs stretched out full length under the table. “I’m going to need it.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra announced. “In fact, it would probably do us all good to drink a little less,” she glared at Varric.

“Great,” he grumbled. “Now we’re teetotalers. Fabulous. Hawke, where you go, trouble follows.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian apologized again, “But what is going on?”

“Hawke has decided to quit drinking,” Varric forced his face into a grimace. “So huzzah for her. And the beautiful and absolutely not fat mother of my child has decided I am doing the same thing. And because I am a paragon of a dwarf, I am giving in, ever so gracefully, in favor of keeping peace in my home and making the love of my life pleased with me.”

“I am pleased,” Cassandra stated kindly. “You are all of those things and a wonderful host.”

“You don’t have to, Varric,” Hawke said uncomfortably.

“You’re not drinking,” Sebastian’s eyes grew wide.

“It’s an experiment,” Hawke slumped further in her chair. “It probably won’t take. I‘m trying to improve my control. Over the demons. Stupid demons,” she muttered. “Ruining my life. Over a decade of demons ruining my life. Void take them, two decades of demons ruining my life. It definitely started in Lothering. I‘ve had enough, already.”

“Try the tea,” Cassandra said firmly. “It comes from Tevinter.” She paused and continued, “It was hard for me, too, when I found out about Squirt. I had to give up many things I enjoyed. It gets easier.”

“Yes, well, I don’t get to pop out a baby and start drinking again if I succeed at this,” Hawke muttered. “I get to keep doing it, forever.” The table was silent for a while.

“That is true,” Cassandra stated patiently. “But if it doesn’t help, you can always start up again.” She looked at her, a little worried. “Though perhaps on a more social basis.”

“You’re not drinking,” Sebastian repeated inanely. “That’s…”

Hawke shoved herself back from the table, “It has nothing to do with you, Vael,” she hissed, and the Rage started roaring, a thick vibration thrumming through her head. “I’m doing this for me. Let’s just make that clear.”

“I didn’t think…” he started to protest.

“No, you didn’t,” Hawke snapped. “Can we drop this, please?” She dropped her head in her hands. “Of all the days to decide…” she muttered. “At least my plans never work. This too shall pass, as a miserable failure, like so many other things.” A thick silence fell over the room as Hawke let herself wallow.

“So,” Varric smirked a few minutes later, uncomfortable with the quiet around his table, “How was the sinkhole?”

“Have a seat, Vael,” Hawke muttered in reply. “You eat with us. Misery loves company.”

 


	8. Falling Apart

Hawke stalked back up to her room after the uncomfortable meal, made up of stilted conversation about sinkholes and other disasters, both Hawke-caused and otherwise, and collapsed onto her bed, the Despair shrieking insistently in countertime to the Rage’s roaring. “Just go away,” she muttered into the cushions miserably, “I’m not giving in, and I’m tired.”

“I’ll go if you want,” Sebastian said uncomfortably from the door. “I just… you looked extremely unhappy at dinner, and I thought I might have done something.”

“You exist,” Hawke mumbled, “You invaded Kirkwall. You showed up after I…” Hawke muttered incomprehensibly into her blankets, and then turned her head. “I figured you send ambassadors, Vael, not come yourself. I figured you’d negotiate with Varric, properly, without having to deal with a fucked up mage that holds a personal grudge. I was trying to make things easier for him, not make it worse. And now…” she started laughing, almost hysterically, dangerously close to losing all control. “Now he can’t even have wine with dinner, he’s hosting the person he thinks of as his greatest enemy, excepting perhaps Bianca…”

“The crossbow?” Sebastian looked confused, “What does Varric’s crossbow have to do with it?”

“Long story,” Hawke laughed even harder. “Sebastian, he doesn’t carry that Bianca any longer. We’re talking about Bianca the Carta princess that none of us ever met because they nearly started a Clan war the last time they got together. She’s married, he dumped her for Cassandra long after she dumped him, and then he promptly knocked the Seeker up accidentally. He must have a thing for princesses.” She stopped laughing. “You know what, Varric fucks up his own life pretty well. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need my help. Maybe I should just leave again.” The Despair shrieked in the background, but the Rage had nearly gone away - more of a distant roaring, like a far away seashore.

“He loves having you here,” Sebastian said even more uncomfortably. “I’m the problem. I could go, stay at Amell House… or even go home… if you‘d rather…”

“No,” Hawke ordered without thinking and then froze, the Despair demon kicking it’s plaintive shrieks into high gear. “Well, shit,” she said quietly, and sat up. “Damn it.” She covered her face with her hand. “I… don’t want you to do that.”

“You don’t?” Sebastian managed, confusion apparent. “I know I’m making things difficult for you, Marian. That was not my intention.”

“You know what they say about intentions,” Hawke sighed. “Look, Sebastian, just the thought of you leaving and staying somewhere else has made Despair start trying to split my head apart.”

“Really?” Sebastian finally came in and shut the door gently. “I’m sure the Seeker will check on us in a minute,” he said softly. “But I… don’t want to stay at your house, either. This whole situation is ridiculous, but I’m doing it for a reason.  My intentions…” he sighed, visibly frustrated, pulling his hand through his already neatly tied back hair. “But you should understand fully why I‘m doing this. It‘s only fair.” He swallowed hard, “It’s not really about an alliance, though I am justifying it to my Chancellors that way. But, Hawke, in the last three years no one has told me that I shouldn’t be doing anything. For a year I prepared to invade Kirkwall, and no one in Starkhaven dared argue with me. I invaded, and then the Inquisition slapped me back and sent me home and I’ve been… angry ever since. Angry, and as Aveline pointed out today, feeling very, very justified in that anger,” he swallowed. “Just as entitled as she always claimed I was, deep down. I’m glad you didn’t accept my foolish proposal. I was a fool. I still am. I did want revenge,” he said softly. “Maker, forgive me for being such a fool.”

“Why do you think I went to Starkhaven?” Hawke replied bluntly, hiding her face in her hands.

“Because Varric sent you,” Sebastian began, and then understanding dawned on his face. “Varric didn’t send you.”

“I lied,” Hawke admitted. “I wanted revenge. You hurt a lot of people that mattered to me. And I was… disappointed in you. You’re better than that. What you did.” She looked up at him, guiltily. “No one else seems to see that. But I wanted _you_ to see that.”

Sebastian stood up and paced. “You lied. You’ve been making even more of a fool of me this entire time. For revenge.”

“No, I’m not,” Despair pierced her head. “I swear, Sebastian, I haven’t been. I just… you know what happens to my plans. They go… all back to front and upside down. And I _don’t_ have a moral compass, whatever you think.”

“You never intended to accept me or my proposals,” His eyes were hurt and hard, splintering with blue ice.

“Actually, that‘s not true, once you showed up like that… I… knew it was just a matter of time,” Hawke admitted, knowing it was too late even as she finally gave in. “I told you, just thinking about you staying somewhere else makes these stupid demons scream at me and try to take over. And once again, I’ve messed this up entirely.” She shut her eyes in defeat. “I suppose I just wanted you back in my life, no matter in what screwed up way. Maker, if you’re a fool, I‘m a mess.”

Sebastian sat back down and stared at her, stunned and in disbelief. “Nothing else would have brought me back here.”

Hawke opened her eyes, trying to understand his words over the sound of Despair. “Say that again.”

“Nothing else but you showing up would have brought me back here,” he repeated. “I would have sulked in Starkhaven for decades, Hawke, plotting impossible revenge, growing angrier and more bitter by the day. And now, I’m sworn to your service, and bound by a possible alliance that only you can reject, and I… don’t particularly care that you lied, though I know I should.” He leaned forward, clasping his shaking hands in front of him. “As long as you’re honest, from here on out.”

“I will try,” Hawke said softly. “I’m not good at honesty. I’ve been hiding too long, even from myself.”

“I…” Sebastian’s Maker’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Do I have a chance, then? This isn’t just some elaborate amusement played out for Varric?”

“You have a chance, and it ceased being amusing the night I left Starkhaven with a mess of demons singing in my head,” Hawke whispered, as tears started leaking from her eyes. “And do you honestly think Varric is _amused_ right now? Because I’m telling you, he’s livid, with both of us. He had made himself a nice little nest, complete with the love of his life bearing his child.” She sighed, “And I fucked that up for him, too. When you arrived, Varric agreed to play along, and honestly, however much he despises you personally, he knows that I…” she looked at her lap. “I need you.”

They were silent for some time after that, not even looking at each other.  Hawke's mouth opened various times to keep going, but she shut it again, knowing that there was nothing she could say that would help.

“You should probably go,” Hawke said at long last. “I should try to sleep, however loud the demons are. I’ll probably be okay.”

“I want to kiss you,” Sebastian said next, and Desire started to warm up in Hawke’s head as he met her eyes, the warm blue of the Wounded Coast instead of icy cold. “A real kiss, Hawke, with all the bells and whistles you were talking about last night.”

“I’m not right in the head,” she sighed, “Quite literally.  I’ve done really stupid things, and I really ought to see if I can manage to set a few things straight before… I get involved with someone.”

“No,” the Prince of Starkhaven said firmly. “You’ve been alone for too long - ever since your mother... You need someone to help you, Marian. I want… to be that person. Your Champion, Champion,” he gusted a small laugh.

“I’m still really angry with you,” Hawke sunk her nails into her blankets, wadding them in her hands. “You’ve done horrible things, and I’m hurt. That isn‘t going to change any time soon… Sebastian.” She shuddered, letting his name pass her lips again. It was far too intimate, with Desire thrumming through her brain.

“You should be,” Sebastian shook his head. “Coming back, seeing what I’ve done… talking to that widow today, you are right, Elthina would be horrified. That apparently is who I am without you, Marian.”

“That’s who you are without Elthina,” Hawke whispered. “Not me. I’m the reason you left to go back to Starkhaven in the first place. I _encouraged_ you. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. We weren‘t supposed to end like this.”

“Apparently, we haven't ended at all!  And I have regrets, but precious few of them involve you,” Sebastian insisted, a touch of hope in his lilting voice.  “You weren’t there, Marian. If you had been there, arguing with me, if anyone would have argued with me, I would have made different decisions. I know it. If you had been there I would never…”

“More blood on my hands,” Hawke shuddered, and felt the cold breath of Despair on her neck, and the shrieking began. “Damn it,” she managed before her eyes glossed over and felt the demon slide icily over her consciousness.

“Marian!” Sebastian was yelling her name from a long way away, but Despair’s shrieking fingers crept around her slowly, wrapping around her ears and blocking all but the loudest of the other noises. “Sweet Maker,” she heard the door slam open, “Seeker! Seeker Pentaghast!” Feet slammed into the stone quickly, out and back, and stopped next to her, but she couldn’t see, her eyes clouded shut with frost as the screaming continued, echoing in her bones. “Marian, come back,” Sebastian pleaded, but she couldn’t feel his fingers on her knees. “Please, come back.”

She felt a Dispel fall around her and she slumped, suddenly free to breathe again. “That was close,” Hawke panted, her cold breath fogging the room. “Never been that… close.”  Sebastian was right in front of her face, an echo of the despair that had held her so recently masking the concern in his face.

“Do not let her go,” the Seeker ordered the man, who had started to jerk back but quickly resumed his position with his hands on her knees, and she knelt, holding Hawke's wrist and concentrating on something she could not see. “Ideally, you should have a lyrium potion, so that you can recover quicker, but…” the Seeker hesitated. “I think it would be best to recover on your own,” she admitted. “Normally I would also recommend a stiff brandy but again…”

“No,” Hawke whispered. “I’ll just wait.” The Seeker nodded, more than satisfied with her decision. “Thank you,” Hawke managed, and then closed her eyes, feeling Sebastian and Cassandra pulling her up against her pillows, and covering her lightly with what felt like the blanket from the end of her bed.

“She will be fine now,” the Seeker told Sebastian, her voice shaky. “It will take half a day for her to recover. So probably by morning…”

“So long…” Hawke laughed weakly, her eyes still closed, “You kick ass, Cassandra.”

“Yes,” the Seeker replied, “I do,” her tone was matter of fact. “You are not the first person to say so.”

“You’re going to make an amazing mother,” Hawke smiled. “Someone who will kick ass for their kid, no matter what. Squirt is lucky.  I'll make sure he knows that.”

The Seeker ignored her, “She should stay in bed,” she continued, sounding slightly less upset. “Stay with her. If you see anything unusual…”

Sebastian nodded, “I will call out. Thank you, Seeker Pentaghast.” The Seeker left, closing the door softly, and Sebastian started to pull up his chair next to the bed, if the scraping sounds against the flagstones, then softened by the rug, were any indication.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hawke told him. “I’ll be fine. No connection to the Fade at all for the moment. They can’t find me. Just… tired. Cassandra may have just cast Dispel, but that‘s the strongest version I‘ve ever felt. Knocked me for a loop.  I've had weaker Silences.”

“I’ll wait all the same,” Sebastian replied and, after a moment he took her hand. “You scared me. What was that?!”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Hawke muttered, but the words tripped over her too tired tongue. “Too many people are dead because of me. Elthina, Mother, Bethany, Anders, all of the people that died in the invasion because I wasn’t _here_ , the explosion… the Templars corrupted by Corypheus and his red lyrium, all of the Inquisition soldiers that had to throw themselves at the demons and Wardens at Adamant in order to fix my mistakes… mages and Templars I‘ve killed because I had no other option…”

“Holy Bride of the Maker,” Sebastian exclaimed, “Do you really think all of those were your fault? That you didn’t do whatever you could to save each one? You tromped through miles of Darktown looking for the ingredients you thought would save Anders from Justice! You told Mother Elthina to leave, told her that she had to get involved and she refused! You warned Orsino and Meredith repeatedly that this was not going to end well unless they could work together! Marian, your responsibility for their lives ended when they didn’t heed your advice! You are not responsible for Corypheus! You thought he was dead! Maker, I was there! _I_ thought he was dead! Ask Varric, because according to that terrible inaccuracy of a book, _he_ thought he was dead, too!”

Hawke cracked her eyes open, tears glistening. “You really think that? You don’t blame me for Elthina’s death?”

“You thought…” Sebastian shook his head. “No. I never blamed you. It was a horrible tragedy, just like the rest. She is at the Maker’s side. But Marian…” he paused, “You were alive,” he finished bluntly.

“Lousy trade-off,” Hawke tried to laugh. “A sweet Revered Mother for a beat-up mistake of a Champion? I’d get my money back.”

“Not for me,” sighed Sebastian. “I will always grieve for Mother Elthina, but I would rather grieve for her than have… lost you.” His last words were spoken into his hands as he bent his head to touch her hand to his forehead.

Hawke was quiet for a few moments, too tired to pull her hand free, and reluctant to do so even if she could.  His hands were so warm.  “Are you going to sit in that chair all night?”

“If that’s what it takes.” His head stayed bent, and his shoulders moved with his breath.

“Are you chanting?” Hawke asked suspiciously. “I’m pretty sure the Maker doesn’t answer prayers that are about me.  I have evidence.”

“No, Marian, I am not praying for you,” Sebastian murmured. “Though perhaps I should be, with a comment like that. But my thoughts… my thoughts are not organized enough to chant right now. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Want to climb in next to me?” Hawke asked, cautiously. “If you aren’t going to leave, anyway,” she justified.

“Yes,” Sebastian admitted. “Do you mind? I‘m exhausted. I‘m not used to that level of physical labor, and I honestly thought I was physically fit.  I think my muscles are seizing up.”

“Not at all,” Hawke tried to laugh again and failed miserably. “Do you know how many times I’ve wished you would end up in my bed at the end of a long day?” He stood up and started to shift blankets and pillows around to accommodate two. “And trust me when I say that physical fitness is not what you lack.” She managed to bite back an all too accurate observation of what he did lack, since he had technically just saved her life.

“This wasn’t quite what you had in mind, I’d bet,” Sebastian chuckled, stretching out a distance from her, a paragon of politeness, in an incredibly irritating form.

“No, but this… this is okay,” Hawke allowed generously. “It’s far better than being alone. Or even with someone else. I… I’m glad it’s you,” she choked with the admission. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she managed, averting her eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me, too,” Sebastian smiled, a nearly wicked look crossing his face that she didn‘t recognize ever having seen before. “You do realize, that the first time we are sharing a bed together, we, in point of fact, are not having sex. Perhaps you should just have accepted my sort of proposal but not really? Who knows what would have happened?”

Hawke huffed, “If I had a connection to the Fade, I would be lighting you on fire. Never point that out again.” She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, enjoying the silence and solitude of her own thoughts.

***

Outside the door, Cassandra tiptoed away, knowing that they would both be okay, and entered her own bedroom to find Varric stretched out making notes, spectacles perched on his nose.

“Crisis averted?” he asked.

“Yes, Despair was a bit close… Varric, are you listening to me? Put the book down,” she ordered, a trifle querulously.

  
“Sorry, Cass,” he obeyed. “Now, what happened?”

“Your dearest friend was nearly possessed by a despair demon!” Cassandra expostulated, and Varric paled. “I saved her, cast a dispel, but Varric, you have to be more gentle. She’s trying very, very hard, and she’s blaming herself for everything that has gone wrong with this world, in every city, every death, every…” the Seeker ran out of words and events. “You should be more encouraging and quit… poking at Prince Vael. She _cares_ for him. Even she doesn‘t realize how much.”

“I know,” Varric sighed. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it? She should have gone for Broody. He would have killed slavers for her. It would have been cute. Even Anders would have had a whole ‘love amongst the terrorists’ theme. I could have worked with that.”

“Varric Tethras, this is not funny.” Cassandra faced him, arms crossed and scowling.

“Cassandra Pentaghast, I am well aware. He isn’t boring anymore, but that’s only because he has turned into some sort of imperialist bastard!” Varric ran his hands through his hair. “He doesn’t deserve her, Cass.”

“She decides that, not you,” The Seeker ordered. “And he is curled into bed with her right now, talking to her about their first night together being so innocent despite the years of her best attempts, and she is threatening to light him on fire if he ever mentions it again. It is _love_ , Varric, and she _adores_ you, Maker help us all who claim to do so. She respects your opinion, and you will ruin it, if you do not make an effort to accept him.”

Varric froze, “Did she say that she loves him?” His eyes were guilty, and Cassandra relented, ever so slightly, toning herself down to a simple glare.

“No,” Cassandra replied truthfully, “But it is obvious.” She glared at him for a minute more, until he slumped, completely defeated.

“All right, Cass, I can‘t resist you when you look at me like that. I’ll try taking it easier on him. After all, he’s not going anywhere for a while. There’s at least three more sinkholes, if another hasn’t opened while we’ve been talking, and I want to talk to her about putting up a memorial where the Chantry Board used to be - dedicated to Anders and the victims. If she says yes, then I’ll even ask him whether he would donate Starkhaven marble and put the invasion deaths from both sides on there…” Cassandra climbed into bed with him cumbrously and kissed him eagerly, all anger forgotten in a near instant.

“You are a good man,” she declared.

“Is that right?” Varric grinned provocatively, “Care to prove it?”

Cassandra scowled again, “Only if you tell me several more times that I am absolutely, in no possible way, fat. I do not feel attractive.” She flopped awkwardly down on the bed next to him. “I am enormous.”

“It’s all Squirt, babe,” Varric assured her, running his hand over her stomach gently and grinning at the light kick that resulted. “You are just as lovely, as muscular, as svelte, as dangerous, as deadly…”

“All those things are not true,” Cassandra frowned.

“Trust me, they are. I would not want to cross you in a dark alley, especially now.”

Cassandra hesitated and confessed, “Hawke told me that I would be a good mother. I am not sure if I can believe her. I am not… maternal.”

“Cass, how many bears have you killed?”

“Far too many,” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “What do bears have to do with it?”

“Any of them have cubs? Nothing is more dangerous in nature than a mother separated from her child. You are nature’s version of maternal. Squirt will be fine. You don’t have to bake cookies and knit sweaters. You need to show him how to use a sword, and give him his first training dummy, show him how to shred it to pieces, and defend him with your life. That will make you an excellent mother, Cass, not the rest of that crap.”

Cassandra thought for a moment, “It’s true that the worst dragons I have faced have all had offspring,” she admitted.

“There you go, then,” Varric reached up and kissed her again, stroking her head where it laid across his chest. “You’re a dragon of a mother, Cass. Don’t try to be anything else.”

 


	9. Not Easy

The next morning dawned all too early, beams of sunlight illuminating the tiny dust motes in the air, and Hawke started to yawn and stretch, but froze when she realized she wasn’t alone, and again when she realized who was next to her. Her mana pool was reconnecting her to the Fade, and she felt… almost normal. It had been a while since she had been anywhere close to normal. She shifted up on her side, bumping into Sebastian who made a face at the movement and then opened his eyes blearily.

“Hello,” Hawke managed, hoping this wasn’t going to be awkward.

“’Lo,” Sebastian blinked hazily. “We didn’t close the curtains.” He remembered, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Hawke stuttered, and realized with the sound of her voice that there were no demons. There was nothing there. “No demons this morning.”

Sebastian smiled brightly. “That’s wonderful,” he breathed and stretched. “I should get up,” he said. “I’ve got to go pra…” he stopped. “No,” he said slowly.

“No what?”

“I’m not going to pray until I have something to pray about,” Sebastian said. “You’re better?”

“Mmmhmm,” Hawke hummed, sensing the direction the discussion was going.

“Sparks and all?”

“Probably well enough to manage a few sparks and some heat,” Hawke laughed lightly, “Though probably not enough to slam you against the wall.” She hesitated out of guilt, “Are you sure? I lied to you.”

“I invaded your city,” Sebastian countered. “I think the balance of guilt is on my side. I’ve got a lot of holes to fill to make up for that.” He winced, “I’m sore. I think I should be glad you can’t slam me against the wall. I work different muscles at home.”

“I’m going to help you,” Hawke proposed. “From the beginning today.” She raised her eyebrows, “Maybe you’ll take your shirt off again?” She leaned in a little closer.

“If you ask nicely,” Sebastian promised and tilted his head, not wanting to take if she wasn’t offering. He had made that mistake before. “Are you sure?” He asked, a breath away.

“Ask me after,” Hawke said, closing the distance, and then abruptly backed up, just before their lips touched. “Oh no, you don’t,” she muttered, angry.

“Hawke?” Sebastian sat up. “Is it the demons again?”

“No,” she spat. “It’s you. Get out of my room, Vael. Did you really think it would be that easy? After everything you’ve done? I spent the first year wondering why you didn’t write and offer me political asylum in Starkhaven. I spent the next _years_ in denial that you didn’t care enough to even contact me - my _friends_ certainly managed to keep in touch. And then you invaded Kirkwall, sending my _friends_ into the arms of the Inquisition to save their home!” She shoved him away.

Sebastian stood, confused but contrite. “I am sorry,” he replied. “All of those things… they are true. I should have given you a place to stay. I should have at least written. I thought about you, all the time. And I should never have invaded, Inquisition or no.”

“Damn right,” Hawke narrowed her eyes. “I told you the truth, Sebastian. Now you tell me. Did you show up to try to seduce me? Is this some sort of Starkhaven version of that stupid Game that the Inquisition is so tied up in? Because I‘m the opposite of Orlesian. I’m barely a Kirkwaller.  In point of fact, I’m fucking Fereldan, and I‘m telling you right now that I‘ll just kill you and won‘t bother making it look like an accident, whether that leads to open war with Starkhaven or not!”

“What?!” The shock on his face was so apparent that she immediately relaxed. “Of course not! I wouldn’t even know…” he blushed suddenly, brown against the tan of his skin, but he continued despite his embarrassment, “How. It has been a ridiculously long time, and even then I didn’t actually…”

“You are no virgin,” Hawke said bluntly. “So don’t lie.”

“No, but…” Sebastian wouldn’t meet her eyes, “I never had to do much convincing, in my wilder days. Being a prince, even a younger son…”

“Ah,” Hawke wasn’t impressed. “So you’ve never actually used your wiles. If you want me, Sebastian, you’d better learn how to use them, then.”

“What?” His slightly stunned face made her want to laugh, bitterly.

“I mean it. I’m not just going to fall into bed with you, or into this alliance or whatever pipe dream you’ve got going. So figure them out, and put them to use. In the meantime, Sebastian, we have places to be. I’m going to get dressed and have some very strong coffee.” Hawke stretched her arms above her head until the joints popped. “So get out of here. You’ve got a long ways to go before you see me naked, Vael.”

“Of course, Champion,” Sebastian said softly. “I understand.” He didn’t leave, though, lifting his eyes to her thoughtfully, “So I have a chance to see you naked?” His raised eyebrow suggested amusement. “Even though all I thought we were talking about was a kiss?”

“Not if you don’t leave now,” Hawke threw a pillow at him, and it slammed into his head, hard.

“In that case,” Sebastian slid out the door, shutting it noiselessly with all the grace of a rogue, and Hawke rose and went about her morning ablutions, changing from her old clothes and washing up. The knock came, and the door opened. “Just put the coffee on the table,” Hawke instructed, eyes shut with a cloth against her face. “And thank you.”

“As the Champion wishes,” an annoying voice said, and Hawke spun around to see Sebastian setting an entire tray down.

“I didn’t mean you had to…”

“You told me to figure out how to use my wiles,” Sebastian smiled, irritatingly. “This is a beginning. A weak one, but…” he smiled wider, “judging by the look on your face, I may be on the right track.”

“It’s only coffee, Vael,” Hawke muttered, “not a declaration of undying devotion.”

“Words won’t work on you,” the Prince declared positively. “I haven’t thought much, obviously…”

“Obviously,” Hawke echoed, rolling her eyes.

“But I know that words wouldn’t work, otherwise you would be languishing after Varric,” he announced triumphantly. “So… I’m going to try other things. You are a woman of action, so… I’ll try actions. Have a good morning, Champion.” He hesitated, “Will I still see you at the sinkhole?”  He asked it nearly shyly.

“Yes,” Hawke replied shortly, stunned into near silence with his determination.

“Excellent,” he smiled. “I look forward to it.” And he left again, leaving Hawke completely off kilter.

“Well, shit,” she said at last. “That’s trouble.” She stepped over and picked up the coffee and stared at it and then all the fancy additions on the accompanying tray. “But at least he doesn’t know how I take my coffee.” She drank it black, a little too quickly, and left the room to find something to eat, more than a little shook up.

***

With Hawke helping it took three days for the largest sinkhole, and two additional days for the other three smaller ones, during which time Sebastian watched her and worked, but had little interaction with her outside of dinner.  Varric managed to stay polite, with the help of loving glares from Cassandra, though the tension never completely disappeared. Sebastian saw when she accepted a little bundle of Embrium from a child with a genuine smile.  He saw her work until her mana was depleted, day after day, and then saw her apologizing to the other workers that she couldn't keep going. He brought her coffee every morning - and didn’t bother with any of the embellishments after the first day, noting she didn’t use any of them. Varric watched him watching her, but kept his thoughts to himself.

And so after they finished with the last sinkhole, Varric called him, alone, into his office, bade him sit in a too-short chair, and ran his hand through his hair, irritated.

“You’ve been watching her,” he started angrily.

“I have,” Sebastian replied carefully. “She told me to figure it out, and I’m trying. She appreciates hard work, and thoughtfulness, and gestures of appreciation. I’m trying to do that, in my limited way.”

Varric frowned and then let his face relax. “You’re right, and you’re at least trying,” he grumbled and sat forward in his chair clasping his hands over his desk, “So I have a proposition for you, Vael. I want to put up a memorial in the Chantry square…”

“Whatever you need,” Sebastian said eagerly.

“What, just like that?” Varric scowled at his easy agreement, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Sebastian slumped. “Unless… can we include the Starkhaven deaths? I’ll have a similar one erected in Starkhaven, with the Kirkwall names. I would like to take steps in the direction of...”

“I will never forgive you, you know,” Varric spoke lowly and threateningly. “Not for the invasion, though that’s bad enough, but for abandoning her, leaving her hopelessly alone after she had to leave her home and wander, trying to stay ahead of rogue Templars… for months she wrote me, asking if I had heard from you. She was convinced that you would write, tell her that she had a place with you. And then she just stopped mentioning you, and I knew her heart was broken and I could do nothing about it.” He stared at Sebastian, “Have you ever had to watch your best friend break her heart for a bastard?”

“I do not deserve to be forgiven,” Sebastian replied bluntly. “Everything I’ve done was unforgivable. She has pointed this out to me, and to be plain, I agree with her.”

Varric slapped his desk with the flat of his hand and sat back. “I can’t figure you out lately, Choir Boy. If that‘s the case, then why are you still here?” Sebastian didn’t answer, and Varric shook his head again. “We’ll need marble, and craftsmen.  And I want to refer you to the Inquisition's Ambassador - she's looking for a good source of luxury stone for Skyhold.  If you are going to work with me, then you should start making some progress with them.”  He smiled with a memory, wicked and humorous, and chuckled, "You should play Wicked Grace with her if you ever get a chance."

“Done, and done,” Sebastian replied, and continued, quietly. “Can we put Anders first? And then Mother Elthina?”

“I was already going to put them at the top of two columns of names,” Varric met his eyes seriously. “I’ve had the plans drawn up for months.” The two men eyed each other openly, one suspicious and the other regretful. “All right, Choir Boy, I’m going to quit trying to make you angry. For Hawke’s sake, not yours. She‘s always believed that you were capable of better things. Maker knows why.” The reference made Varric chuckle, “Or maybe he doesn’t.”

“And I’ll try not to be annoying,” Sebastian countered, “For the Champion’s sake. Even though she‘s wrong about what I‘m capable of.”

“Don’t promise the impossible,” Varric barked a laugh. “So tell me, what do you think of the name ‘Bob’?” Sebastian looked confused at the sudden change in subject. “Squirt needs a name, and I’m not sure I can talk the Seeker into Hawke,” Varric shrugged. “Thought it was worth a shot getting you on my side.”

“Keep looking,” Sebastian managed. “Bob is not the name you’re looking for. Hawke is catchy though, and at least it's unisex.”

Varric barked a short laugh, despite himself. “On that, we agree. Who would have thought that would ever happen?”  He sighed, "Names are the hardest part of making anything new.  Isabela had to name Swords and Shields."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.  "That explains a lot."

 


	10. The Dreams She Kept Coiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a poem by Christopher Poindexter. It's short, so I'll quote it in entirety:
> 
> "It was rather beautiful  
> the way he put her insecurities  
> to sleep. The way he dove into  
> her eyes and starved all the fears  
> and tasted all the dreams she kept  
> coiled beneath her bones."
> 
> I'll probably be quoting more of his stuff while I go on here. If you haven't heard of him, and you like poetry, look him up.

Hawke stood in the Gallows courtyard - alone, which on its own was unusual. She never went to the Gallows without backup of the Aveline variety. After all, the Holy Maker knew that if there ever was a candidate for Tranquility in Kirkwall it was Marian Hawke. She took her time to look around her, orienting herself in the all-too-familiar location. She hadn’t been back since she reached Kirkwall - not even to check in with the Inquisition, choosing to report to the Seeker instead, and let her carry the information about Weisshaupt to the people that needed to know. She had no desire to ever step foot in the place again.

The sky was ominous with low clouds, dark with unshed rain. The stones radiated a dry cold in a way that she didn‘t remember from the real location, as if they were glacial ice and not made from rock at all. “No,” she whimpered, echoing the influence trying to prey upon her. “I don’t want to live through this again.” She started to look for the demon - knowing it had to be present to be so potent. “This is Fear,” she gasped, trying to breathe normally. Her companions stepped up next to and behind her, and she scanned their faces, noting that one, and only one was missing. “Varric,” she grasped the spirit playing her best friend’s role by the fade version of his favorite tunic - far more roughly than she ever would have handled him outside of the Fade. “Where is Sebastian? Where is he?” This version of Varric looked confused, and she realized that it was barely a spirit at all - merely a wisp taking on his face for the duration of the dream. There was no point in asking him any questions.

Orsino and Meredith started to argue behind her, their same old arguments wearing even thinner since she had already lived through this misery once. “I’m not getting fucking involved,” she cursed at them. “Solve your own problems!” The spirits continued to bicker between themselves, trying to draw her in against her will. “I don’t want to be the fucking Champion any longer. Take this job and shove it up your arse,” she yelled at Meredith’s demand that she step up to her assigned role, as if she, of all the people in Kirkwall, answered to the Knight-Commander. She swung her staff down and took out the woman without hesitation, hoping she would turn out to be the manifestation of Fear, but the dream continued. Orsino tried to compliment her on her decisive behavior and she blasted him into oblivion as well, raining down fire.

“Get the Grand Cleric,” Not-Aveline murmured to a Templar recruit standing nearby. He took off at a run.

“No!” Hawke attempted to stop the insanity one more time, grasping in Anders’ direction, the pointlessness of her protest making his robes slip through her fingers entirely. Anders stepped forward, and gave his obviously rehearsed speech, even without the two key players to witness it, and then the ground exploded in an eerie red light, rubble and madness spiraling up into the gloomy clouds before starting to collapse all around the city as she watched, helpless to intervene. “Anders, what have you done?!” Hawke fell to her knees, just as she had so many years before, even as her mind tried to convince her that it hadn‘t happened this way at all.

“There will be no compromise,” The spirit taking his role replied brutally, glowing that eerie blue - that color at least couldn‘t be faked in the Fade. This then, was the source of her Fear. But there was something else - something that wasn’t masquerading as Vengeance - Futility. “This cannot be stopped.”

“Where is _Sebastian?!”_ Hawke screamed at the implacable face of Vengeance. “Where _is_ he, you bastard of an abomination?” She had almost forgotten that it was a dream, losing herself in the memory and the nightmare. “You’ve killed him! I‘ll kill _you_!” Her dream self lunged for Anders’ throat and she just managed to wrest control back, refusing to give way to Rage to conquer the Fear.

She jerked herself awake, sweating and panting in her bed. “Maker’s Balls,” she cursed, and flung herself out of her room, stumbling into the hallway and running down the hall to the room where Sebastian was supposed to be staying. “He’s not dead, he’s not dead,” she gasped to the rhythm of her too fast heartbeat, and flung his door open without knocking. The bed was not occupied, the room looked empty, and she fumbled to grasp the doorframe, clenching it hard enough to indent the soft polished wood with her fingernails. “Maker, no,” she sobbed, “Is he… after all? It was just a dream!”

“Champion?” A voice came from behind her. “Can I help you?” Hawke closed her eyes in relief and released her painful grip of the trim, turning slowly.

“I… just had a bad dream,” she explained, bringing her still damp eyes up to his face, and wiping them with the palm of her hand and what she hoped looked like nonchalance. It was him, standing there holding a book, almost supernaturally blue eyes in a tanned face, and his hair - looking longer, neatly combed back, still wet from a recent bath.

“I see,” he looked incredibly awkward, his fingers tracing the runes on the cover of the book. “And you needed to find me afterwards?”

“I dreamt you were dead,” Hawke managed to sound calm, at least to her own ears. “I dreamt of the Chantry…”

“Ah,” Sebastian’s face cleared. “I understand completely. And I… died?” He sounded curious. “I was in the Chantry when it…”

“Yes,” Hawke swallowed.

“It could so easily have happened,” Sebastian said softly. “I can see why you are… upset.” His eyes were moving quickly over her face, but she couldn’t read the emotions she found there, not in her current upheaval.

“Yes, well, I’m fine now. It was just a dream,” Hawke assured him, trying to regain her equilibrium. “So… have a good night. Enjoy your book, or whatever.” She tried to let go of the wall, but her legs were shaking, refusing to support her after the initial burst of adrenaline that had brought her there.

“May I help you?” He asked gently, even as he stepped towards her.

“I don’t want…” Hawke put up her hand and he stopped even as she rethought. “Fine,” she sighed. “I would appreciate it. I’m shook up. It was quite the nightmare.”

“It’s not weakness to ask for help,” Sebastian said softly, and reached out his hand. She winced, and took it, letting him support her with one hand in hers and the other around her waist. “It’s not strength to deny being scared.”

“Yes, well, I’m not used to that level of support any more,” Hawke pointed out, bitterly. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” Sebastian replied even more quietly. “How could I?”

“You blamed me before,” Hawke pointed out cruelly. “When… it… happened. Even Ser Cullen sided with me, in the end. But you demanded Anders‘ life in exchange for your loyalty. In my dream…” she stopped abruptly.

“What happened in your dream?” Sebastian was still curious.

“I… told Anders I would kill him, for killing you,” Hawke pushed the words out, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it. I forced myself to wake up, before I could do it. The worst had already happened, and it was Fear and Futility. Nothing I could do would change the outcome.”

“I see,” Sebastian spoke, his voice tight.

“I killed him once, and that was enough,” Hawke managed. “Instead of for you, it was for Elthina, for all of those who died.”

Sebastian nodded briefly. “I regret…”

“Regrets are worth nothing,” Hawke spat at him. “I have regrets enough to fill all of Lowtown.”

“And I all of Kirkwall and the Bone Pit,” they reached her door and he released her, slowly, “Do you want me to stay?” He asked it, his voice sorry. “Do you need company? I could fetch the Seeker?”

Hawke shook her head, “Seeker Pentaghast needs her sleep. And… I don’t think that you coming in would be wise. I’m pretty sure this is yet another demon, but I can handle Fear. If it truly is Futility - I‘m not sure Futility can be defeated by anything less than a miracle.” She felt the awkwardness growing between them - a spiky plant that took up way too much room. Maker, what had she been thinking, to spring out of bed and go looking for him? She babbled randomly, “I‘m really good with Fear demons,” she bragged, just a little bit. She couldn’t let him realize she was so weak.

“I never realized you were always so scared,” Sebastian sighed. “I wish I had known.”

“Fear is the life of an apostate,“ Hawke told him ruthlessly, “Why do you think I spent so much time running?” Hawke managed a weak laugh. “Goodnight, Vael. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Goodnight, Champion,” Sebastian stood outside her door, still holding his book, looking at her with a level of worry she hadn’t seen on anyone’s face since her mother had died, and she gently shut the door in his face. She leaned up against it, and listened to the sound of his footsteps walking away. “Shit, Sebastian,” she muttered. “I… I have to get over this. You‘re making me weak. I can‘t afford to be weak. Not over you.”

She stumbled back to her bed, willing herself to sleep without dreams with little success, and trying to convince herself that she would have reacted that way for any of her friends, not just Sebastian.

But the rest would never have been in the Chantry in the middle of the day.

***

Hawke avoided Sebastian the next day, not appearing at all to help, and he worried.

“Sebastian,” Aveline’s voice appeared behind him, where he and his men were cleaning up yet more rubble left behind from the explosion, as well as the general sort of junk and detritus always left around Lowtown. “You remember Merrill?”

“Guard-Captain,” Sebastian greeted her formally. “Of course, I remember. Merrill, I hope you are well.”

The blood mage shrugged, “I am alive. I wanted to ask you about Hawke’s dreams,” she cut to the chase. “She told me she was fighting several demons, asked me to come see her today, and I need details to help further. You know Hawke, she won‘t tell me everything. She persists in thinking that her demons are a personal reflection of her character.”

“Several? Well, yes, but none have been bad since Despair.” Sebastian blinked, “To my knowledge she has not encountered it since… that night.  But we have not spoken... at length about her... challenges.”

“Good,” Merrill nodded briskly, “She said you were there, that you were with her… afterward.” The elf didn’t seem to be insinuating anything, but Sebastian felt the interest of the men in his party a bit too keenly.

“I was,” he spoke honestly, continuing to work, lifting a broken crate onto the wagon that was there to remove the trash. “It was the least I could do, since I was the cause.”

Merrill shook her head. “I’m having a hard time figuring that out,” she admitted. “How you could be the cause of her Despair. It makes no sense.”

“I am the cause of much trouble in her life,” Sebastian replied stiffly. “Just last night she had a dream - she mentioned Fear, and Futility.”

“Futility?!” Merrill’s large eyes grew even rounder. “Oh…” she turned to Aveline. “I think I understand, Aveline. I really need to talk to Hawke. I’m not sure what can be done, quite honestly. Once Futility is involved things get complicated.”

“She said that it wouldn’t matter what she did,” Sebastian stopped his work and looked at Merrill, his normally smooth forehead creased. “If there is anything that I can do, however, I will do it.”  He opened his mouth to continue, to try to assure Hawke's friends that he wanted to help, but closed it again, feeling the inevitability.  They would never believe him.

Merrill shook her head. “She needs hope, and Kirkwall is a hard place to find it,” the mage admitted. “I really can’t see anything else countering Futility.”

Sebastian clutched his hands inside his work gloves - donated to his work party just two days before by someone who Hawke claimed was an ‘anonymous benefactor’. He knew better - only she would have noticed that they were all getting blisters from shovels and splinters from broken wood.  Only she would have cared, in this city where they were the defeated.  The rest were all too willing to relish their pain. “There must be something.”

Aveline spoke up, “It seems to me that you are in the best position to be offering anything of the sort to her,” the warrior woman said bluntly and disapprovingly. “I don’t like you, Sebastian, you know that. You hurt her once, then ignored her, and then hurt her again. But despite it all, she… looks to you. I would suggest that you figure something out, and fast. I won’t lose my friend to you, not a second time. Come along, Merrill, let’s get you to Hawke,” she concluded, far more gently.

Merrill nodded, but hesitated, “Sebastian, or should I call you Prince Vael now? Human titles are so confusing…” she sighed. “Sometimes, hope just needs a seed, before it can grow.”

“I will try,” Sebastian looked directly at her. “I am sorry for the losses I caused,” he said formally, “and Merrill, I would be honored if you just called me Sebastian. Don’t worry about the titles. They are confusing, and here, I am no prince.”

The mage smiled cheerfully, “Oh, good, that is easier! You haven’t been very nice, lately. You never used to be so… mean. Not before you started arguing with Hawke all the time. I think you made her grumpy when you refused to have sex with her. And I only just got used to calling Varric the Viscount in public situations.” Aveline sighed with exasperation. “I’m coming, Aveline,” Merrill chirped. “Have a nice day moving rubble, Sebastian! Maybe you’ll find something nice underneath like Hawke used to!”

Sebastian spent the rest of the day thinking hard about what Merrill had said, completely perplexed on how he could possibly help.

And Hawke didn’t come to dinner that night.

***

“I don’t understand it,” Merrill frowned at both of the other women where they had hidden themselves away in Hawke’s room with Wicked Grace cards - that they weren’t using, despite the spoken intention to play, as Merrill still didn’t fully understand the rules, Aveline was a poor loser and too honest to be a truly good player, and Hawke won nearly every hand without Varric or Isabela there to catch her cheating. “He doesn’t look evil, even though I know he’s done horrible things. He looked… sad. Hawke, why is he so sad?”

Hawke shrugged, “I don’t know,” she claimed.

“He mentioned a dream you had last night,” Aveline confronted her. “Fear and Futility, Hawke? Come clean.  Why would Sebastian know about dreams you've been having?  You haven't been...” the woman flushed, "diddling him, have you?"

“I need a drink,” Hawke muttered.  "And no, Aveline, I haven't.  I wouldn't... abuse him like that."  Aveline met her eyes in an unspoken apology.  "It's all right, Aveline.  I know how it looks."

“’Fess up, Hawke,” Aveline finished. “What was this dream? ”

“It was that day at the Gallows,” Hawke muttered. “You all know what happened.”

Merrill frowned, “We went to the Gallows a lot for a pair of apostates… oh,” she finished, the copper dropping. “That day.”

“But it was different,” Hawke sighed, “It was worse. All of us were there, every single one, except for… him.”

“Where was Sebastian?”

Hawke stared in disbelief at Aveline’s thoughtless question. “At the Blooming Rose? Honestly, Aveline!”

“I see,” Aveline’s freckles grew more pronounced, the only sign that she was upset. “He was there when it happened, then?”

Hawke nodded once, avoiding their eyes and took a sip of water, trying not to think about whiskey. “And then Anders… did what he did.”

“And you tried to kill him,” Merrill chirped, far too merrily for the subject matter.

Hawke shook her head, “I woke myself up, scared that Rage was controlling me.”

“You should have just let yourself kill him,” Merrill frowned. “The spirit who was Anders might have been the manifestation of Fear.”

“He was definitely that,” Hawke managed. “But the real threat was Futility. And I’m fairly sure that Futility was… in the Chantry.” She mumbled the last, very reluctantly.

Merrill’s thoughts whirred nearly visibly behind her eyes. “Of course!” she smiled. “Because Futility would never welcome a confrontation - it wouldn’t see the point. It’s a type of Sloth after all, and often accompanies Despair, which we already knew you were having trouble with.”

“Oh, Holy Blessed Maker,” Aveline rolled her eyes. “Hawke…”

“I have never, ever met a Sloth demon that threatened me in my life,” Hawke was insulted. “Merrill, how can you even suggest…”

“It’s not Sloth, it’s a type of Sloth!” Merrill insisted. “Look, Hawke, do you want me to help you or not? The best thing to do with Futility is to try to change things. So what can you change?”

“Certainly not the Chantry exploding,” Aveline grumbled. “I think _I_ need a drink. How did someone as normal as I am end up with not one but _two_ apostates for friends?”

“The Hanged Man it is!” Hawke stood up. “Finally, something that makes a little bit of sense.”

“I was joking, Hawke,” Aveline sighed, “I’m not taking you anywhere near the Hanged Man. Sit down.”

“I can’t change the past,” Hawke slumped back down onto her bed.

“Good,” Merrill prompted. “You’re thinking logically. But you can change now, right?”

“You can quit hiding in your room avoiding the bloody man,” Aveline grumbled. “That would be a change. We all know you fancy him, so quit denying it and…”

“Like you can talk, Mistress of the Copper Marigolds,” Hawke grumbled. “Months. Months it took for you to quit trying ridiculous things and actually talk to Donnic. About blades, of all things.”

“And it’s been bloody years for you! You can‘t escape this, Hawke, you can‘t deny…”

“Enough!“ Merrill putting her foot down was rare enough for both of the others to quiet down and listen. She pouted at both of them. “Please, don’t fight with each other! Don’t you have that plaque hanging in your house now, Aveline? Donnic loved them, he was just too wrapped up at being manly at work to show it! He told me afterwards that marigolds are his favorite! Wasn‘t he the one that planted those window boxes full of them?”

Aveline blushed, her freckles fading into the ruddy color of her cheeks, “That is besides the point,” she deflected. “We were talking about what Hawke can change.”

“I can’t change anything!” Hawke vented, “He’s the bloody Prince of Starkhaven and I’m the Champion of Kirkwall. He’s a former brother in the fucking Chantry and I’m a fucking apostate _mage_. The whole thing is pointless! I should just tell him to go home, already!”

“That is the Futility influencing you, and all of those things are in the past,” Merrill pressed, unusually persistent. “This is the present. The world is changing, Hawke. The Circles have fallen, they are never going to have another one in Kirkwall, the Inquisition says so, and you are no longer ‘just an apostate‘. You never were! You have to stop running and making excuses for your Fear! I don‘t think you‘re facing it at all! You‘re coddling it because it‘s familiar!  And you're scared about what happens if you stop.”

Hawke glared at her with wild eyes, “I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then learn,” that came from Aveline, and both mages looked at her, surprised. “Everyone can learn new skills,” she shrugged, “But I wonder Hawke, how many times you’ve actually defeated a Fear demon, if they are such a bother for you?”

Merrill’s mouth fell open. “Of course, it’s the same one. Hawke,” she firmed her mouth. “Fenhedis,” the obscenity fell from her lips, “Hawke,” she tried again, “You’ve never defeated that demon. In your dreams, sure, but in person?”

Hawke whimpered, “Maker’s Breath, let up, both of you! You’re supposed to be making me feel better!”

“No, we’re supposed to be helping,” Aveline scowled, “And sometimes helping hurts. Go talk to him, Hawke, and soon.”

Merrill nodded, still leading the way, and more like Keeper Marethani than Hawke had ever seen her. “Aveline is right. You are scared, and you must conquer this.”

Hawke sunk her head into her hands. “Fine, just… give me some time?”

“No, you’ve had nothing but time,” Aveline was harsh. “Tomorrow, since it‘s too late tonight.”

Hawke swallowed and looked at her friends, fatigue in every line of her face, “All right, tomorrow. I‘ll have talked to him by tomorrow night.”

“Good,” Merrill picked back up her cards and frowned at them. “Now, what does the Angel of Death do again? Does it have a match?  Is there an Angel of Life?”

Aveline groaned and threw down her cards. “Damn it, Merrill, when are you going to learn the rules already?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to get a bit happier after this. :D


	11. If There Is a Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be next week's chapter, in honor of Valentine's Day, but I have no self-control, and it's done. So... Happy V-day a week early?
> 
> Chapter title is from U2's 'Song For Someone'. I will quote a bit (ahem):
> 
> "You let me into a conversation / A conversation only we could make / You break and enter my imagination / Whatever's in there it's yours to take."
> 
> "If there is a light you can't always see / And there is a world we can't always be / If there is a kiss I stole from your mouth / And there is a light, don't let it go out."
> 
> Still SFW. ;)

They met for dinner again the following night, full of polite conversation and inquiries into Cassandra’s health that were met with a glower and deflection, and even more polite questions about Hawke’s state of mind that were answered with one word answers and averted looks.

Varric spoke up at last, playing his hidden card to change the subject and improve his love‘s mood, lest she decide to stab him with a fork. Not that she would do such a thing, not over mere awkward table conversation, anyway. “So… Choir Boy and I are looking into setting up a new memorial in the Chantry’s courtyard, Hawke. What do you think of that?” Sebastian winced at the mention of the Chantry and looked down at his now empty plate, apparently finding the crumbs there very interesting.

Hawke gaped at the dwarf and dropped the remains of the roll she was pulling into pieces in lieu of eating it. “You’re doing what together? That’s…” she swallowed her emotions.

“Unlikely?” Varric grinned. “I thought so too, but Prince Charming decided…”

“Prince Charming?” Sebastian sighed, “I think I prefer Choir Boy.”

“Well, you’re doing something nice for _once_ , and you’ll always be annoying,” Varric mumbled, “But you have a point. I’ll work on it. Anyway, Princeling here decided to donate the marble and matching craftsmen, and says he’s even going to have another one assembled in Starkhaven. Top of the list of names will be Anders and Grand Cleric Elthina,” Varric watched Hawke closely, until Cassandra jostled his elbow to knock the calculating look off his face, her lips pursed in what might have been amusement and… pride in him? That was new. He could get used to seeing that look - it was almost better than a glare.

“You are?” Hawke stared at Sebastian blankly, not bothering to hide her surprise. “That is…”

“Unexpected?” Sebastian smiled slowly. “I cannot earn your favor, Champion, or make amends, but this I can do.”

“It must be good to be Prince,” Varric laughed, watching the two of them stare at each other, and catching his fiancée’s eyes, full of love and hints. “Yes, well…” he stood up. “I think I’m tired. It’s been a long day, full of Viscounty things. I’m going to retire to the study and work on Swords and Shields for a while. Have to keep my Seeker in smut or she gets bored and starts looking elsewhere.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cassandra smiled softly, and let him pull her up from her chair. “We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Varric let her leave first, his hand on her lower back, turning back to wink at his best friend, who was still too shocked to respond.

***

Hawke and Sebastian stood together and left the dining room in silence, Hawke still staring at him, bewildered and wary. They reached her room and stood outside until she finally spoke, “Why are you doing this? Elthina _and_ Anders?” The memories of her recent dream flitted through her memory, confusing themselves with what she knew to be truth.

Sebastian met her eyes boldly, “How better to remember two people who did their best for what they thought was right? Anders was no more of a monster than I am. We both have blood on our hands, some of it the same. He did it for Justice, and I claimed the same. Both of us were wrong. Besides, the monument was Varric‘s idea. I didn‘t think of it first, though I should have.” He focused on the floor in front of him, frowning. “I should write to my Council, and have them start the preparations for Starkhaven’s monument. Perhaps Varric will show me the plans.”

“I’m not accepting you,” Hawke was blunt, and he flinched. “What I said in Starkhaven is still true. Give me one good reason why I should leave a city that loves me? Kirkwall needs a Champion. I am still that Champion. Who else will fight for them? Who else even cares about a city literally falling into ruins while we speak?” She almost succeeded in convincing herself, feeling a little better.

“I would fight for them,” Sebastian muttered.

“You have your own city,” Hawke contradicted, hoping to pick a fight. It would all be so much easier if he would just step up and fight with her. Then she wouldn’t be weak, and she could just tell him to leave already. Just as she had done before. That was… safer. “And that… is a disturbing thing for the man who invaded us not so long ago to say. Your idea of fighting for Kirkwall killed a good portion of those of us that were left!”

“Marian, I…” He stopped speaking, defeated. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t stay here forever, once you release me I have duties, but as for reasons for you to leave…” he swallowed, “I do have one, but you won’t believe me. So I won’t say it, because it’s pointless,” he determined.

“Tell me,” Hawke ordered him, staring him down, even while she was scared to hear the answer. “Tell me the reason, Vael.”

“They love the idea of you, Champion,” he said. “Not you. They see a hero, immortal and gleaming, like the statue in Lowtown, always confident with an ever-burning flame. I see a woman, in tarnished armor like my own.” He closed his eyes, and refused to argue with her, even without her saying a word, “I don’t deserve you, and I can’t earn you. You won’t accept my proposals.” His final words were low, almost inaudible, but sincere. “I’ve no hope of that, not after this last week. But I’m more convinced of the truth of this now than ever; You are more than their Champion. You are a woman that deserves the best. I am hardly that, Prince or no.  I have nothing to offer you.”

Marian blinked at him, struck speechless again, the bridge of her nose wrinkled with confusion and the Fear started to whimper, shivering down her spine. “No,” she whispered, and shoved it back bravely, almost automatically. “I am not afraid,” she muttered with determination. “I’m not afraid of _this_. Back off.”

“Champion?” Sebastian was alarmed.

“Fear,” she explained, bluntly, breathless and starting to shake. “Sebastian,” she gritted her teeth, hating that she had to admit this, and mentally cursing the advice of her girl friends. “I’m afraid you’ll leave me alone, again,” She grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her face. “I’m afraid, and to defeat Fear, I have to face it, here, not just in my dreams. Merrill said so.”

Sebastian swallowed, “Don’t be afraid,” he told her softly, something like hope blooming in his eyes. “I’m here,” he pointed out, “I can’t leave, unless you tell me to go. I take my vows very seriously, most of the time. How many times did you tell me that I took them too seriously?” His eyes focused on her lips, dangerously close. She could fucking feel him looking at them, making her shiver with fear and longing. “What would you have me do, Champion?”

Hawke realized that they were still in the hallway, and that servants were walking by and trying not to pay attention to her, apparently threatening the Prince of Starkhaven with her hand fisted in the collar of his tunic, with a look on his face that suggested he was enjoying it. Nosy Kirkwallers. “Come inside,” she said and kicked her door open and pulled him in after her. “Damn it, Vael,” she cursed, kicking the door shut again, since she was physically incapable of letting him go. “I want…” Hawke swallowed in turn, trying not to look at him, and staring at his chest instead. “I want you to kiss me. No bells and whistles,” she clarified. “Just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss,” Sebastian repeated huskily, still singularly focused on her mouth. “That’s all the Champion wants?” Just the suggestion had made him breathe a little heavier.

“No,” Hawke corrected, “I want you to kiss _me_. Marian and Sebastian, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.  Only Sebastian, since I think I hate the Prince of Starkhaven. He‘s a real bastard. Not even you can disagree with that. And I’m pretty sure the Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t exist outside Varric’s stories. She sleeps on a bed of dragon bones, yadda yadda, blah blah blah. But you…” she couldn’t finish and so deflected instead. “It’s possible that I don’t hate _you_.”

“So you want me to kiss you because you think perhaps that you don’t hate me?“ Sebastian’s eyebrow was up nearly to his hairline. “I admit, I am a bit confused.”

“Something like that, yes,” Hawke sighed, realizing that she was completely bungling this situation. So what else was new?  "Maybe I should have bought you a plaque, or goats, or... something.  The Fereldan way can't be more awkward than this."

Sebastian continued, “Elthina told me many times that I was far too impulsive. That I did something foolish every time I didn‘t stop to think. Should I think about this first?” Despite his words he was angled closer, and drawing in even further. Hawke could nearly taste him and her heart sped up, as the Fear whimpered a little louder. “How foolish is kissing Marian Hawke, on a scale of one to ten?”

“And you think I have control,” Hawke shuddered in a Fear-born laugh, “but, Sebastian, I’m petrified. This Fear is all tangled up and complicated. It’s about abandonment, and magic, and changing things instead of letting them be… I need you to kiss me, without all of the fancy stuff I can do to make it… hotter. Just, you and me,” with difficulty, she loosened her hands so that they lay flush against his chest, where she stared again, dragging her eyes away from his face, from those eyes that were staring right through her with equal measures of hope and tragedy. “No magic.”

“Marian,” Sebastian took the risk of using her name again, given her words before, and sighed, “There is no way that you can remove your magic from the equation. You are made of magic and all that entails.” He thought briefly and took another risk, slow and sweet, “I’ve always liked that about you. You juggle fire, you spark with lightening, you are dangerous and breathtaking, just like those elements.”  He paused, "Kissing you is definitely at least a 7, maybe an 8."

Hawke blushed pink and mentally cursed her body‘s reaction. “I’m in control right now,” she whispered trying to explain and reassure him at the same time. “I know that I can make you react… physically with magic. I can make a dead man react with magic, probably literally, since I learned a few fancy tricks from this ‘Vint necromancer with the Inquisition while we were in the Western Approach. But that’s besides the point. And dammit, I’m babbling again. What I don’t know… one of the things that I fear… is if I’m enough without.” She bumbled on. “You put off what Varric insists is my irresistible nature for years, Sebastian, saying you were tempted but moving on all the same. Why? I still don’t know…” she sighed, frustrated, “just… will you? It‘s just a kiss.”

Sebastian started to shake with the effort to hold back, to resist temptation. “I… want to,” he admitted, still focused on her mouth, now less than a breath away from where she stared at his chest, wide-eyed with trepidation. “If I do… will you kiss me back?” He asked, a little nervously, “It won’t be like before?” He finally met her eyes as she lifted them to his, and searched under her eyelashes for truth. “You won’t be… cold? Or push me away?”

“I won‘t,” Hawke promised softly, serious for once. “That would be letting the Fear win.”

“Fine,” the impulsive Prince managed, and set his hands above the belt on her hips in her well-worn robes, leaning in. “Just a kiss.”

Their lips met, soft and warm, both trembling slightly, though perhaps for different reasons, fitting together in a not-so-chaste manner, in a heated opposition to the frigid kiss he had tried to take in his palace. Hawke had to move first, shifting her hands to slide to his shoulders and then the back of his neck, cupping him there and tilting her head for a better angle, she whimpered, “ ‘Bastian,” a throaty echo of the Fear still trying to gain purchase in her brain.

Sebastian groaned, “Say my name like that again.”

“ ‘Bastian,” Hawke managed, a near mumble against his mouth, and he rushed into her like a flood. A single spark flew from her upper lip before she tamped it down and concentrated on the feel of his lips on hers, and the slide of his tongue.

Her mouth muffled his reaction to her momentary slip, but possibly in retaliation, he deepened the kiss, tightening his hands on her hips, and speeding it up by degrees until it was just shy of torrid. His mouth remembered what to do, capturing her lower lip in an expression of dominance she wasn’t expecting, and it slanted urgently across hers, pressing and pliant by turns. He kissed her until she was struggling to match his pace and rhythm, and trying not to roll her hips against his, or move her hands to pull him yet closer, or fist them in his loose hair and drag his lips to her neck so that she would have an excuse to leave a mark on his. Realizing this, she broke it off, panting and staring at him once again, shocked into meeting his eyes, opening with his own dazed look. “We don’t need my magic,” she confirmed, her hands forming into fists behind his neck, tickled by the edges of his hair. “And I think I can confirm that you are actually… attracted to me.”  Despite everything she managed to sound surprised.

Sebastian laughed hoarsely, “Was that in doubt? And no, we don‘t need your magic,” he admitted, and paused, leaning towards her ear, with a gentle laugh, “but I am extremely curious about it. That… tingle?”

“A lapse,” Hawke confessed, somewhat worried. “Was it…”

“Intriguing,” he murmured. “I look forward to experiencing the rest.”

Hawke let him go and took a step back defensively. “I keep letting you in,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist to stop herself from diving back towards him. “Not drinking was supposed to help me with control, not take it away. Aveline and Merrill said we should talk, and this… isn‘t talking. Damn it, I‘m messing this up, again.”

Sebastian looked hurt, “Do you want me to go? I… I thought…”

“Don’t you dare leave,” Hawke grabbed at his hand with the intention of starting over. “Not now, anyway.”

“That’s…” Sebastian laughed weakly with relief, still shaking a bit. “I didn’t want to go. That was better than anything… something worth waiting years for, and I don‘t want to have to wait to repeat it. Maker‘s Breath, Marian, tell me I can do that again,” he begged.

Hawke pulled him a little closer. “Shut it, and kiss me again.” She was still a few steps away, and tense.

“I thought the whole point of kissing was not shutting it?” Sebastian teased, recovering a bit, one eyebrow raised. “Am I wrong? I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Holy Bloody Maker,” Hawke cursed, “If this is you out of practice…”

“I assure you I am,” Sebastian taunted. “Years and years adding up to over a decade of celibacy.” Desire started purring into her brain, the vibration a little more than welcome. “I haven’t kissed anyone in…” he laughed, incredulous, “Maker’s mirror, that’s embarrassing.” He turned a rosy shade of brown.

“Well, shit,” Hawke cursed, gasping, “Sebastian…”

“Desire?” Sebastian laughed, throatily, “I’m feeling it too.” He shifted his focus from her eyes back to her mouth, swollen and red with his kisses. “Should I go? You never did say what you used to do to get the Desire to go away.”

“Many, many things,” Hawke gasped out. “Depending on the situation.”

“What does it want now?” Sebastian tried to rein himself in. “If the whole point is denying it… or is it to give in?”

“It wants you not to be celibate,” Hawke managed, with extreme difficulty. “And it wants to ride me to take you there.” The purring decreased a little bit, but not enough. “Damn it,” she said, frustrated. “It didn’t leave this time. It‘s… too close,” she let loose a stream of expletives that didn’t help the Desire either, as it involved a detailed description of what the demon could go and do in the Fade as a viable alternative to possessing her, most of the alternatives being extremely unlikely, there not being any nugs in the Fade.

Sebastian listened to her lengthy blasphemy with an incredulous look that slowly turned into amusement. “So I should leave,” Sebastian concluded. “Because with me absent…” He couldn’t hide the way his face was lighting up at her reluctant admission, though.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Hawke insisted, weakening despite everything. “But it’s a bad idea to let the demon win. Maybe. Probably? We could debate the wisdom now or… I could just ask Merrill about it tomorrow, after we…” she let her words trail off in favor of staring at his mouth. “Damn,” she muttered again, nearly vibrating on the outside with the thrumming within. “I want you to kiss me again,” she whispered. “I want…”

Sebastian grinned, even through the obvious danger, “I think we need a chaperone.”

Hawke laughed outright at the ridiculous suggestion, “We’re adults! We don’t need…” she stepped back in, and reached out her other hand toward him, all temptation in the line of her arm reached towards his lips and in the curve of her outthrust hip. “There’s only one thing I need, Sebastian Vael, and it‘s not supervision…”

“This is exactly the situation that Seeker Pentaghast could help with,” he insisted. “If we were to…” he cleared his throat rather than complete the sentence. “The demon would never go away. It would own you, yes?”

“Possibly,” Hawke admitted with her last few brain cells. “I’m trying to care. Do you care?”

He grabbed her hand where it was attempting to wander from his lips to below his hip where his belt rested. “I care. So we go somewhere public. Where is the Seeker?”

“Study, probably,” Hawke let herself be towed out of her room and into the hallway. “But Sebastian… I want…”

“I’m not going to lose you to this,” Sebastian explained carefully. “You are more than just your desires.” His face was still lit from behind, happiness shining from behind nervous eyes.

“I am?” Hawke was definitely not so sure. She could almost hear words instead of purring now, drawing her deeper into elaborate fantasies involving them both, none of which would happen if they went and found the Seeker.

“Yes,” Sebastian chuckled. “This isn’t your choice.” He turned and she leaned against the coolness of the stone wall, pulling him back towards her roughly, so that he had to brace himself against it or fall against her, a calculated maneuver to make him do just that. He just managed to brace himself on one arm at the level of her head. “When… if we ever follow through on anything you‘re thinking about, I want it to be your choice, not some demon’s,” he panted into her mouth before giving in and kissing her again, far too briefly for Hawke‘s preference, and spinning away just as fast, continuing to pull her down the hall, and then the stairs.

“Oh,” Hawke blinked, vacantly. “Would that be… good?”

“It would be, I hope,” Sebastian promised, “if it ever happens,” he muttered under his breath and sprinted down the hallway with all the speed and agility of a rogue. “Maker’s Breath, I’m not that lucky.” He opened the study door with a flourish, interrupting a cozy night of reading and writing, Cassandra and Varric staring at him, twin expressions of worry over their relative books and papers. “Um… we need a chaperone,” he explained awkwardly, his happy mood instantly broken.

And Cassandra started to laugh, even while Varric looked the most disgusted that Hawke could ever remember seeing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it would get happier. :D


	12. Silence my Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Christopher Poindexter's poem:
> 
> "I loved her  
> Not for the way  
> She danced  
> With my angels  
> But for the way  
> The sound of  
> Her name  
> Could silence  
> My demons."
> 
> I didn't want to rate this fic explicit, but I'm treading the fuzzy line in future chapters, for sure. Still safe for work, in my personal opinion, but I wanted to get the warning out there. Let's talk about sex... and I'm dating myself. ;)

Varric frowned in disapproval, “Desire, Hawke? Because your lips look… swollen.” His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but Hawke could see the amusement flickering deep inside.

Hawke slumped against the doorway, the Desire already letting up in her brain with the presence of her friend and his pregnant wife-to-be, and her intelligence - what there was of it - returning with the absence. She rather missed the intensity, but not enough to let it back in now that it was lesser. “Desire, Varric. And yeah, they would be swollen,” she admitted with a smirk.

“And he brought you to find us instead of giving in?” Cassandra smiled smugly. “I told you he respects her, Varric.”

“And I said he respected her too much,” Varric threw back, tossing down his quill grumpily, scowling at the splattered ink that resulted. “I should have put money on it.”

“I will not bet against you,” Cassandra said calmly, standing up from the loveseat and stretching her lower back, pushing Squirt further out in the attempt. “That would be pointless and absurd. Sit here, both of you. I assume, Hawke, that you need to practice more? Rather than have me dispel this attempt and send you both back to bed?” Her mouth twitched, and Hawke wondered whether the Seeker had a dirty sense of humor, after all… but surely not.

“I…” Hawke’s mouth twisted, “I can’t answer that. Not honestly, anyway. I’m a little too… emotionally involved, I’m afraid. Demons tend to try things on until something clicks and the mage snaps and… you would know that,” she laughed slightly desperately. “And this one is a little too close for comfort.” She found she could not look at Sebastian, sitting so close to her, hopelessly embarrassed by her own behavior in the last few minutes, and Varric started to chuckle, the laughter building in his chest and erasing his prior look of disgust.

“Damn it, am I ever glad I can’t be a mage,” he guffawed. “Talk about awkward. Hawke, I’d offer you a drink, but I’d like my guts to stay where they are and Cassandra to stick around. Neither would happen if I give you anything of the sort.”

“Thanks,” Hawke replied wryly. “I’ll take the intention for what it’s worth. I could use a drink.”

“No,” Cassandra settled herself down into an armchair. “Now, would a distraction help or hinder you? I could read…”

“Andraste’s Ass, Cass, the last thing they need is Swords and Shields!” Varric laughed aloud. “Do you want my dearest friend to end up possessed?”

“It is not Swords and Shields!” protested the Seeker, “I was rereading…” she stopped speaking.

“What were you reading, babe?” Varric teased, “Magic and Mercy? Fucking Void, Cass, you might as well pull out the porn you hide under the bed…” Varric pulled a grin.

“I do not…” Cassandra sputtered and blushed a mottled red with the detection of her near-lie. “You miss the point, dwarf,” she said defensively, shifting in her chair.

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric waved her defenses down. The Seeker sputtered indignantly. “Though that begs the question, Hawke. You should have realized, after our letter about the Inquisitor‘s theories, how vulnerable you‘d be, coming back here. And why Desire? Why now? You haven‘t been exactly…”

“She may not want to discuss this at the moment,” Cassandra interrupted.

“I’m her best friend!” Varric protested, “We talk about everything!”

Cassandra caught his eye and tilted her head towards the Prince, who was trying not to laugh from his place next to Hawke on the loveseat, hand still locked in hers.

“No, by all means, discuss everything you know about my sex life in front of the person I least would like to know about the dirty details, Varric,” Hawke drawled, “because Maker knows this situation isn’t embarrassing enough!” The blush had reached her chest now, and she wondered frantically whether or not she could just spontaneously combust without being possessed by Rage first, because surely that would be preferable to… whatever this was. “And what letter? What theories?” Varric paled considerably under his tan, his laughter and his grin fading away.

“It’s all right,” Sebastian muttered back, probably trying to be soothing, “So far the discussion of your sex life hasn’t been the problem. It has been the discussion of mine, embarrassing for an entirely different reason.”

Hawke couldn’t help but snicker at that, the Desire dimming even further, “I suppose that I’m an easier target than any former brother of the cloth, due to my connection to the Fade? How fortunate. Andraste must truly be looking out for you, Vael.”

“You might say that,” Varric said slowly. “Hawke, apparently my letter to you was lost. I… we’re going to have to talk about this. Soon.” He ran his hand through his hair, eyes flickering to the Seeker, who shrugged. “What’s done is done,” he said softly. “But crap, that’s bad. We thought you _knew,_ and decided to come anyway.” Hawke looked at him, confused and still befuddled with the demon’s Desires.

“Tonight is not the time,” the Seeker opined. “The Champion is dealing with a demon, and that is the immediate concern. The other can wait. Varric has a valid question - why Desire? And why, of all things, is it reacting to…”

“Perhaps you just have a particular concern with a former brother’s… experiences,” Varric tried on a grin, but it fit awkwardly over his underlying worry. “Maybe he should be telling you everything?”

Cassandra frowned, “Varric, you said that you would cease poking fun of…”

“I’m not trying to make him mad, Cass,” Varric protested. “But if he’s so interested, maybe he should try sharing a bit? After all, you and I shared our pasts pretty freely there for a while. We did it mostly by letter, sure, but these potential lovebirds aren’t separated by the Waking Sea and the Deep Roads. They’re right next to each other. Just give them a bit of privacy and a chance to talk and see what happens.” He stood up. “Hawke, let me know if he’s leaving when he’s done talking. I’ve had him investigated, so I know there’s nothing too bad back there, but… you might not go for some of it.” Sebastian nodded once at Varric’s knowing look, and Varric looked resigned in turn, and then grudgingly impressed. “And we… we should talk in the morning, you, Cass, and I. All right?”

“I will stay, just in case,” Cassandra blushed at Varric’s raised eyebrow. “I’ll be just outside,” she continued, stiffly. “You will need to yell if you need me. I will not listen.” Varric looked even more skeptical. “I swear!”

“Thank you,” Hawke managed through her bright pink flush and gritted teeth as they moved to the door.

“Go ahead, Choir Boy,” Varric prompted, closing the door after his Seeker. “She’s waiting.”

The door shut, and Hawke sagged. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she stated firmly. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what depravity could make a rogue prince take a vow of celibacy.”

“On the contrary,” Sebastian said quietly. “Varric is right. I do need to share. You already know that I never used my wiles to get women, Hawke. You need to know all of it.” He sighed, and rubbed his thumb into her hand. “And he’s right… It was wrong of me, and you already think horrible things about me, so you might as well know the rest before… you make any decisions you would regret later.”

“Go on then,” Hawke said stiffly. “If it’s that important.”

“It is,” he swallowed, “I’ve told you before that I was wild. I was out of control, even at thirteen, when my parents sent me away to the Chantry. I loved my grandfather, and the only reason I didn’t rebel completely and run away is that he… said that life appealed to him. A life of contemplation. But you know that part.” He bit the inside of his cheek, and closed his eyes. “But the worst of my… dissolute nature came after, I’m sorry to say.” He stiffened and tightened his hold on her hand, “My last name was no secret. The girls that lived at the Chantry knew my reputation, and my family, and they… they pursued me. I saw no reason not to let them catch me - I was bored and they were a distraction, and I didn‘t want to dedicate myself to Andraste and the Maker, not then, anyway. I… used them, heartlessly. I never sought one out, but I let them have me, over and over again. I…” he let her hand go and leaned forward, pressing his thumbs on either side of the bridge of his nose. “I was with multiple women, enjoyed being the center of attention in such a group. It was heady, being the desired one, instead of my older brothers, whom I envied desperately,” he confessed. “It wasn’t until Elthina caught me at it, pulled me out of the mess I was making where I was, setting women, those studying to be Sisters and Templar recruits, against each other in their pursuit of me, and removed me from the Chantry in a compassionate attempt to find a path that suited me better that I… woke up and realized how horrible I was being. Those women… many had never been with any one else. Many of the women that were destined for the Chantry left entirely, because of me. They lost their sense of vocation, their faith, their purpose, because of me. When all this happened, I hadn‘t even reached my majority.” He let his head sink down into his hands. “I decided to return, ultimately, of my own free will, and you know the rest.”

“That is…,” Hawke admitted, a little surprised. “I had no idea…”

“Yes, well, now you do,” Sebastian’s jaw firmed. “And now, you can send me away and tell me you never want to see me again, that you are horrified at how selfish and proud I was. I may not have been bound by vows at that time, but that is ultimately why I took them, to stop myself from being… ” he stopped the words abruptly. “To stop myself from being tempted,” he continued after a significant pause. “But that did not work after I met you.”

Hawke looked confused, “How is a vow to the Maker supposed to stop the temptation itself? Perhaps from following through on it, but stop it in the first place?”

“A promise to something bigger than I was, and an excuse to refuse without causing offense,” Sebastian sighed. “I took the vows when I turned 21, and until I met you, I never looked back. It worked, for quite a while. But it was never about my dedication to the Maker or Andraste, it was about me and my weaknesses.”

“So you regret your earlier… choices?” She asked that question reluctantly, noting that she regretted very few of her own escapades.

“Mostly,” Sebastian admitted. “Though…” he smiled a little wickedly, reminiscing, “there were a couple of times that were particularly…” he cleared his throat, “Yes, well, I hope I’m not that selfish man anymore. I haven’t been with anyone since I took the vows, but I would hope I have matured since then.”

Hawke nodded, expecting that. “All right,” she accepted. “And that’s the worst? No midnight orgies before the statue of Andraste?”

“No, but isn’t that bad enough?” Sebastian laughed bitterly and shook his head in disbelief. “Orgies in the Chantry? Is that in one of Varric‘s books? Maker, I hope not.”

Hawke shrugged, “I’ve had a lot of partners, Sebastian. I wasn’t waiting for anyone or anything. You were a kid, but so was I. It helped stave off Desire demons, not getting close to one particular person. If I didn’t want someone in particular, they didn’t come around.”

“I see,” Sebastian wasn’t really surprised, “So that’s why you don’t have much experience getting rid of them?”

“Exactly,” she said, very softly. “I can hardly fault you for sleeping your way through your adolescence when I did the same thing, with no guilt at all, as a girl in Ferelden. It was satisfying, in its way, but didn‘t create a deep relationship. I don’t feel guilty, but I‘ve never had a relationship.”

“Me, neither,” Sebastian huffed, “As if that wasn’t obvious.”

“And what about now?” Hawke challenged. “I’m assuming all this isn’t just… temporary. Your proposals - even the one you made to me back in the day was… you more than insinuated…”

“My proposal before was selfish, an attempt to keep you for myself, and from anyone else, namely Anders, that might… desire you. This… is different. It would be a lot of effort if that’s all I wanted,” Sebastian prevaricated, and then looked at her directly, and abandoned the pretense, “That‘s not what I want at all. I don‘t want something temporary, Marian. But it‘s not about keeping you to myself any longer. Please believe me.”

Hawke took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to dispel the Fear still hovering. “If you didn’t realize, it’s usually different with mages. My father told my sister and I that in Circles they were encouraged to either have multiple partners without forming an attachment, or have none at all. For exactly the reason I just told you. Thanks to that little discussion, given at an absurdly early age, I never even thought about anything… permanent. Even though my parents were so happy together, and even through Mother‘s awkward attempts at hooking me up with Bran‘s younger son. Why do you think I told you after I propositioned you - in the Chantry of all places - that I was only thinking of one night, two people and forgetting all our troubles?”

“So are you saying that you… couldn’t be…” emotions played over Sebastian’s face, as if he was trying not to care.

“Not at all,” Hawke stated. “My parents managed, after all. My father was _not_ weak, even if he… made difficult life choices to get what he wanted. He handled it. I am his daughter. It would have been nice, though, if he had told me _how_ he managed it. Assuming that it wasn‘t blood magic, anyway, which apparently it might have been.” She laughed weakly. “Because other than having a whole lot of sex I don’t see how. And there is no doubt that my parents were… intimate often.” She made a face, a touch of immaturity coloring her face. “I don’t want to think about that anymore.”

Sebastian looked a little relieved, “We could try that,” he said without thinking, and Hawke burst out laughing, far more honestly this time. “Well, we could,” he repeated.

Hawke reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For tempting you,” she said softly. “If I had understood why, perhaps…”

“I would have been tempted anyway,” Sebastian caught her eye, and confessed, “You are not the sort of woman that slips the mind, Marian.” They met each other’s eyes, looking for something, and Hawke smiled back at what she saw. “Are you going to send me away?” Sebastian finally asked.

  
“No,” Hawke answered. “I can’t judge you for something I was doing as well, can I? And I was pursuing people, even if they knew that I wasn’t interested in anything else. They damn well knew that I wanted them for sex, and that there was nothing else beyond that. And quite honestly, I bet that all of your young women were doing the same thing with you, even if they started to get attached.”

“I bet that drove Carver crazy,” Sebastian started to laugh, and Hawke shoved him ever so slightly. “Seriously, you and your sister sleeping your way through the young men… he probably wasn‘t getting any, with that chip on his shoulder…”

Hawke shook her head, “Bethany took the other path. There is no way she was anything but a virgin when she...” She stopped talking and tried to address the other sibling. “And Carver was in a semi-serious relationship until we fled. I don’t think he wrote to her after we reached Kirkwall, though. And then he was a Templar and I‘m pretty sure he was a regular at the Rose. It was an easier route, for a Templar under Meredith, than trying to make a relationship work. And despite all of that, I suspect he held a torch for Merrill, one that he was far too uptight to follow through on, especially given his position.”

“And I’ve stepped in it,” Sebastian sighed, exasperated. “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be able to help.”

Hawke looked at him, surprised, “You have helped. I’m not hearing Desire anymore.”

“And that’s… good,” Sebastian relaxed, just a little. “Now, it would be your choice, to kiss me or…” They stared at each other, for just a moment, and Hawke stood up, as if to go. “Going so soon?” He sounded wistful.

“Sebastian Vael,” Hawke said slowly, but gently instead of challenging, for once, “Even if I was going to let… something else happen tonight, I can assure you that it would not be in Varric’s study. Are you kidding? He’d find out, somehow, and his wife-to-be is directly outside that door.” She pointed at it emphatically. “We would never have a moment’s peace for the rest of our natural lives. I’m not going to give him the ammunition. He knows far too much about me already.”

“Where, then?” He asked, wincing at his own forwardness, and browning slightly with a blush. “I don’t mean to presume…” but Hawke cut him off before he could fumble his way into confusion.

“My house is full up of your men,” Hawke sighed, “So not there. I don’t think there is a single inn left standing in Kirkwall except…”

Sebastian blanched, “Not the Blooming Rose,” and Hawke laughed at him outright.

“No, I wouldn’t ask that of you, Brother Sebastian. I was thinking the Hanged Man, and I can‘t go in there. I would walk in the door and everyone would yell my name and buy me a pint or thirty, and I‘d be off the wagon before I could say ‘no thank you‘. I‘m still not sure the not drinking is helping, but I‘m going to keep going for a while, until I can say whether or not it is.”

“Thank the Maker,” he chuckled. “For a moment I was frightened. Not because of the drinking, mind you, but I never told you how much I hated going into the Rose, even if it was for a good reason.”

Hawke looked away, feeling rather guilty, “I knew you hated it, but I took you anyway. No, I think…” she looked stern and determined, “Sebastian, I think I’m going to have to release you from your vow.”

“You _are_ sending me away?” Sebastian’s Maker’s Apple bobbed. “Why? I thought…”

“Because you wanted this to be my choice, and I want it to be your choice,” Hawke whispered. “It’s trite, but full of truth. If you love someone, let them go, and if they return to you…”

Sebastian stood up to meet her, carefully trying not to react to the slip of her words, “Consider me returned.”

“Just like that?” Hawke laughed. “Not even going to walk out the study door first, say ‘Hello’ to Seeker Pentaghast and then stroll back in?”

“No,” Sebastian reached for her hands. “I already left you once. This is me coming back.”

“Nothing else has changed,” Hawke said after a moment, letting him capture them. “But… if you want, you can consider this a formal courtship or whatever the good girls and boys call it these days. I‘m willing to take that step, at least, even if I am bloody terrified that this is going to end in misery. Again. If you didn‘t realize, my life is chock full of miserable moments, and somehow this is going to end in tears. Fair warning.”

Sebastian broke into bits of laughter, “Marian, I’m sorry to have to break this to you, but I’m _not_ a good boy. I‘ve never been a good boy, even at my best. As for being miserable,” he smiled a little shyly, “you cannot see the future, for all your gifts, Marian Hawke.”

“I’m not a good girl,” she said, looking at her feet. “Aveline was quite clear about that, and she is the consummate good girl. But I think I’ll like that about you. I’ve never been attracted to good boys. Always wondered why you were so damn… irresistible. I thought it was maybe because you were forbidden, but Maker knows I‘ve never been attracted to any other Brothers.”

“That’s interesting,” Sebastian bent down to reach her, “Because I don’t like good girls either, but I’ve always thought you were one, if occasionally… misguided. Obviously we‘ve both been either greatly mistaken with our own characters or with each other‘s.” He kissed her gently on the cheek. “May I see you back to your room, Marian?”

Hawke nodded, not trusting her voice, and they opened the door to reveal Cassandra sitting in a chair, on guard with her sword across her limited lap, her shield at her feet, and a book in her hand.

“We’re going to go upstairs now."  Cassandra looked surprised, and blushed a mottled red, looking at their linked hands. “Not like that!” Hawke exclaimed, and started to laugh, realizing with great delight that the Seeker definitely had a dirty mind. “Not like that,” she repeated, more seriously. “Just to get some sleep. Separately,” she emphasized. “Mutually alone.” Sebastian chuckled at her vehemence in response to the Seeker‘s look of disbelief. “Maker’s Breath, Seeker, I swear that nothing is going to happen!”

“Very well,” Cassandra leveraged herself up out of her chair with difficulty, and Sebastian leapt to help her up. “Stop that,” she fussed at him. “I can get myself out of a chair well enough. I am not helpless.”

“I beg your pardon, Seeker.”

“Oh, just call me Cassandra,” she groused. “Since you two are getting along so well, you both should. Hawke is Varric’s family, and you… might be,” she allowed, “whatever Varric’s blighted preferences are.”

“Seeker Pentaghast, are you rooting for me?” Sebastian’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t think anyone would actually want me within ten feet of Marian. Aveline certainly doesn‘t - Donnic has been quite clear that she‘s lecturing him nightly on how foolish it is for Varric to let me stick around. I imagine Merrill wants my head on a pike and my blood to fuel her magic, however chipper she seems in public.”

“You spoke to Merrill?” Hawke whispered at him, and Sebastian nodded, a little more grave. “You are full of surprises, today, Sebastian.”

“Yes, well, I have the reputation of being a romantic,” the Seeker criticized, scowling. “And you obviously care for the Champion, despite your odd ways of showing it, and we have all made many, many mistakes in our lives. Though yours are… extreme.”

“So are mine,” Hawke pointed out.

“Not really,” Cassandra sighed. “The Most Holy wanted you to be the Inquisitor, Hawke. Varric hid you long enough for us to ask Asta instead, no doubt as the Maker intended, but we wanted… you were our first choice.”

“Seeker,” Hawke stared at her, “I had no idea. Even after backing the mage rebellion at the Gallows? Even as an unrepentant apostate myself?” Her mind whirled, “And Varric didn’t tell me?!”

“Ser Cullen was extremely complimentary of the way you had handled yourself over the years,” Cassandra stated bluntly. “Between his opinions and Varric’s, it was obvious that you had done everything you could, first for the refugees of the Blight, then for those that survived the Qunari occupation, and for the mages and Templars subjected to Orsino and Meredith. You did very, very well, Champion.”

“So that year that I was running…” Hawke shook her head. “I had somewhere to go?” Her voice broke, and Sebastian made an involuntary movement towards her, but stopped himself, guilt deepening the lines on his face. “And Varric didn’t _tell_ me?”

“In Varric’s defense, he didn’t know that’s what we wanted you for,” she sighed, “I kept it from him. And even afterward, when you were at Skyhold, he said that you’d given enough.” She looked at both of them regret painted over her face, “I think I understand what he meant, now. I should really go apologize, even though he will never let me forget it if I do.” She glared at Sebastian, her mood changing in a blink of an eye, “You will treat her better this time, or I will run you through.”

“I am only just beginning,” Sebastian promised. “But yes, I will.”

“And you will quit running,” Cassandra ordered Hawke. “You will always have a place to go, after this.”

“I will try,” Hawke murmured, and Sebastian finally gave into his impulse and grabbed her hand, squeezing in reassurance.

“Then, by all means, go upstairs,” Cassandra urged, her mouth twisting. “Whether you sleep or not depends on you.” She preceded them up the stairs, and if she was waddling, they never would never have said so. She was far too intimidating, even hugely pregnant.

They paused outside Marian’s door until they heard the Seeker’s door shut.

“May I?” Sebastian asked, very quietly, still holding her hand. “I do not want to presume…”

Hawke shifted to her right foot. “Shit, Sebastian. You know I want you to kiss me. So…” he presumed at that point, diving in with her fingers twisted in his left hand and his right cupped behind her head, sliding his tongue between her lips, still forming her last word.  He muffled the remainder of the demand, swallowed her surprise, and almost claimed possession until he paused, slowing down and giving instead, taking his tongue back and kissing her gently, little mouth movements that had her chasing his lips, leaning into him and grasping at his clothes to pull him back into her. He moved away when she grabbed, bending down her neck and moving along the edge of her jaw, before kissing her tenderly just under her ear with soft lips. “Fucking Void, Sebastian,” Hawke panted, tilting her head into his continued caresses. “It must be like riding a horse - you never forget.”

“Say my name again?” He asked, nearly begging, moving back up to her lips. “I like how you say it. It’s like… music, my name from your lips. Even with all the accompanying curses. Like a dirty tavern song that you can‘t get out of your head.” He pressed into her more urgently then, making it impossible for her to answer, twining his tongue back against hers and guiding her arm around his back, a silent request for her to embrace him.

Hawke laughed into his throat, and he captured the air and sent it back to her with his own chuckle, pulling her tighter against him, releasing her hand to slide his to her back as she fisted her other into the collar of his shirt, determined to not stray further. “Sebastian,” she managed at last, between his parted lips, with another low laugh and a near giggle, but leaving the obscenities behind. He surged back into her again as a reward, matching her, but moving slower and slower as they panted and finally came to a stop, cheek to cheek, and wordless.

“Still no Desire demons?” Sebastian asked, breathing hard into her ear.

“That’s right,” Hawke confirmed coyly, but hesitating to take the next step of inviting him in as he pulled away.

Sebastian searched her face and smiled with relief. “In that case, I should go,” he said quietly, “until such time as you are willing to invite me in, my Champion.” He swallowed, but continued, “I look forward to that day,” and he took a step back as Hawke released her hold on him.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Hawke replied at last, smoothing the wrinkles she had placed in his shirt before she watched him walk down the hallway, leaning against her doorframe, her eyes on his hips, hidden by his longer tunic. Slowly she turned back to her room, shutting the door and spun around to fall flat on her bed in euphoria. “Maker’s Breath,” she said at last. “I should have just asked him in. How am I supposed to sleep after _that_?” She stood up and paced for a few moments, fighting the temptation to go chase him down, and arguing with herself the whole time.

Eventually she undressed and fell asleep, with nary a whisper from a single demon, though her dreams were still of a particularly vivid nature, and this time, far, far more agreeable.


	13. Get What You Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Breaking Benjamin's "Had Enough". Double meaning here, though. :D
> 
> I'm sick, with a stupid head cold, so I'm posting an extra chapter this week. I'm way ahead anyway with what I have written, so I might as well.

Cassandra shut the door to Varric’s room with a smug, satisfied smile painted on her lips. “They will be fine!” she announced triumphantly.

“Hmmph,” Varric grumped from the bed, not looking up from his book.

“Varric,” she warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not getting in the way,” he muttered. “I told you I talked to him about the memorial. I’m fucking trying, Cass. And he has been… reasonable. Not smart, but reasonable. Intelligence is too much to ask for, from him.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra’s disgusted noise echoed from the closet. “You are incorrigible. He obviously would do anything for her…”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Varric mumbled. “Name a good thing about him. One good thing. I‘ll pay you two silvers for every positive thing that you can name, with evidence to support it.”

Cassandra laughed far more easily than she used to, “He is polite. He is respectful, and we saw proof of that earlier. He sees her as a person, rather than the Champion - and you know how incredibly unlikely it would be for Hawke to find anyone like that after that book. He has a faith that he still holds to, even though he has left the Chantry…”

“Fine,” Varric cut her off. “Two silvers for evidence.”

“Done,” Cassandra’s smug smile never dropped from her lips as she slipped under the covers and snuggled up to Varric cozily, lifting his arm to pull around her. “It is a bet.”

“I thought it was pointless to bet against me?” Varric grinned at last, letting her proximity pierce his unhappiness with the situation.

“Yes, well, a Nevarran has a bad time passing up easy money,” Cassandra admitted. “This is a sure thing.”

“Is it now,” Varric laughed at her outright. “Well, all right, Seeker, you’re on. A bet it is. But only for the first occurrence. I‘m not going to pay out for every kissed hand and held door.”

“Very well,” Cassandra added, “but I reserve the right to add possible positive things as I get to know him better.”

Varric’s mouth twisted, “Hmm, I think you’re trying to steal the pot, Seeker,” he teased. “Isn't that a bit too cunning for a warrior?”

“I would not do such a thing,” Cassandra’s hand slipped under the covers. “Are you tired?” she asked softly, stroking his lower stomach.

“Not in the least. You? How’s Squirt?”

“Restless,” Cassandra announced. “Like his mother.”

“Let’s burn off some of that energy, then,” Varric laughed, his eyes flashing with something other than a challenge. Cassandra reached up and pulled his hair loose of the tie that held it back. “One of those nights, is it?”

“Mmm,” the Seeker agreed. “You do not wear it down enough. I’m going to remind you why you should.”

She made a very persuasive argument, and by the end of their rather lengthy debate, largely held without words, Varric was willing to admit he could very well be wrong about most things, most notably, his hair.

***

The following morning, Hawke rose with a smile - mentally telling herself that she couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened, and to get a grip on herself already. But apparently _that_ Sebastian, the thoughtful, kind one, was still around and perhaps…

About that time was when she hauled herself back and realized that she was trying to justify his behavior. Again. With that knowledge, she hid in her closet while he lingered after delivering her coffee, drank it, admitting to herself that she was being a coward, ate alone in her room, scowling at herself, and refused to let herself go meet him at the makeshift Chantry in Lowtown to hand out food, blankets and warm clothes to the needy. Instead of leaving the Keep, she took a left and crossed the landing, not even glancing at the stairs, lest she give in to temptation, and another left, and then right into Varric’s office, where she plopped herself down into the too short chair in front of his desk and ordered him, “Lecture me.”

“I’d be happy to,” her dearest friend replied, setting down his pen and templing his fingers over the desk. “Want to go to the Hanged Man? Good place for a lecture. And… we have to talk about what‘s been happening in any case.”

Hawke groaned, “Maker, more than anything, Varric. But you know that’s a mistake. I can’t. They’ll all call my name, buy me a pint each and next thing you know I’ll be singing that Fereldan tune about sneaking out of the house with my lover after spinning my grandmother to sleep.* I’m really trying here.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Varric winced, “Sorry, old habits die hard.” He ran his hand through his hair, loose today, for some reason that escaped Hawke entirely. Since when did Varric ever wear his hair loose? “But the alcohol would make the lecture come out smoother.” They nodded morosely together. “What do you want me to lecture you on, anyway?”

“How stupid I am to fall for Sebastian bloody Vael, _again,_ ” Hawke supplied readily. “I know you have an unending supply of ’Come-to-Andraste’s’ on that particular topic, so… Go on.” She waited impatiently, but Varric didn’t begin. “I’m waiting, here, Varric. Please start. I have other things I meant to do with my day after this.”

But Varric took a breath instead. “I can’t give you a lecture.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed in anger, “Why the Void not?! You always have before! Go on, tell me that he’s boring, that he’s cheesy, that he’s elitist, pretentious, and fucking killed people!” Her eyes were desperate and pleading now and Varric winced, closing his eyes to hide the betrayal and hurt she was projecting.

“He’s not exactly boring any longer. He is annoying. That will never change, I’m sure. He has killed people. So have you, and you've killed people together, but I’m pretty sure that after our time with the Inquisition, Cass and I have you both beat. Just a hunch, there, since I lost count after Adamant, long before we hit the Arbor Wilds. He’s still… a bit elitist and far too proud of himself and his city,” Varric admitted, “But none of that matters.”

Hawke leaned forward on her knees, “Why?” She asked suspiciously. “Because he’s building you a fucking monument?”

Varric met her gaze, dead on. “Because you love him. He doesn’t deserve you, but no one would, my friend.”

Hawke shoved herself back in her chair. “No,” she denied. “It’s just physical attraction.” But she wouldn’t meet his eyes again.

Varric grinned hopelessly, “Believe me when I tell you I wish it was,” he joked, it falling flatter than the Silent Plains. “But you love him. You loved him before you saw him get excited over that damn cookbook at the Chateau. You’ve loved him since he told you about his grandfather‘s bow, giddy with delight over having it to the point where that was all he could talk about for weeks. I know you better than anyone, Hawke. You are a fabulous liar, especially to yourself. You told him the truth about this charade, didn’t you?”

Hawke let her head fall into her hands, and buried them into her black hair, clutching too tight. “Maker’s Breath, Varric, what am I going to do? I‘m so fucking stupid.”

He laughed at her, “You’re going to take it slow. Slower than you’ve ever taken anything. You are going to let him court you, because you deserve it. His way, not yours, so that there’s no skipping to the end, where you flirt away the morning regrets, and say that you‘ll do it again sometime soon and then never talk to him again. And then you’re going to decide whether you can trust him, and whether or not you want to live without him. Because in the end,” his eyes focused beyond his friend’s crumpled form, to where Cassandra was framed in the doorway, grumpy, large, and sympathetic, “that’s what love boils down to. Trust and the thought of living without them. Not the fear of being alone, but without that person specifically.”

Hawke swallowed her fear, “Varric, when did you know that Cassandra was…”

Varric shook his head, “I don’t tell my own stories,” he started, and then stopped, making a sudden decision. “But for this one, you have to look at yours. She shoved me in a chair,” he said quietly, “and demanded that I tell her the truth. No one, not even you, had ever asked the truth of me.” He looked at his friend closely, pain in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, especially to _him_ , but why did you take that chantry request in the first place?”

“He had lost his family,” Hawke remembered, “My sister was gone, my father was gone. I missed them, and… I understood. There was no revenge for me. My sister was gone to the Blight, my father…” she shook her head. “But I had my mother and Carver, and even Gamlen. He had no one. So… I took it, and told myself it was about the reward. It was, at least partially…”

“It was for him, and for yourself,” Varric clarified. “He asked something you wanted to give. Just like Cass did for me.” He cleared his throat and repeated, “He doesn’t deserve you, and that will never change. But Hawke…”

“I don’t deserve him either,” Hawke completed.

“Fuck, no!” Varric’s frustration boiled over with her reaction to his words, “It’s not about deserving! You think I deserve Cass? Of course not! She’d be a million times better off without me! Curly didn’t deserve Asta either, but the two of them are mad about each other. It’s about what you want, who you want, and what you’ll sacrifice in order to have it! I’ll do just about anything to keep the Seeker with me. She makes me, me, instead of that stupid guy they call the Viscount, she calls me on my bullshit like no one ever has, and claims she loves me, besides. I’ve done nothing to earn that. It would be impossible! And Choir Boy…” he slumped, “You balance each other, somehow. He tempers your impulses and you counter his. Two impulsive people shouldn’t work… but you two… you work better together than apart. Perhaps because your impulses incline in opposite directions. Andraste help you if you two ever decide you want the same thing at the same time. There’ll be no stopping you.  You'll probably save Thedas from the Blight itself.”

Hawke lifted her head from her hands, her short hair wild from where she had clenched it, her eyes wide with a sudden realization. “You actually think I should give this a shot?”

Varric shrugged, already back to his usual self. “If you don’t, we’d better get repaired and prepare for another invasion. This time, he’d probably take you prisoner and carry you back to Starkhaven to serve his every whim. Conquering princes tend to do that.” He grinned evilly. “That’s almost a plot for the next Swords and Shields. I should make a note of it.”  He weighed her thoughtfully.

“That would almost be easier than trying to do this his way,” Hawke admitted, deadly serious. “But thanks, Varric.”

“Anytime, Hawke,” he leaned over the table, “Now, assuming that I can’t get Cass to agree to name Squirt after you, what do you think we should call him?”

“Him?!” Hawke laughed at the abrupt change of subject, “So sure?”

“Just the ease of the pronoun,” Varric backpedaled. “That’s why I’m looking at unisex names,” he continued eagerly. “Then, we only have to pick one. So much easier. Cass has about seven given names and she hates every single one of them. One name, one baby. Easy.”

Hawke shrugged in bewilderment, “I have no idea,” she started to say, and Cassandra cleared her throat behind them both.

“I do not hate all my names,” she announced. “Cassandra is fine. The rest are ridiculous, and never used. And I have a name for a girl. You just refuse to entertain it, dwarf.”

“Cass, you don’t really want to think about your brother every time you look at our child,” Varric protested.

“Antonia is a lovely name!” insisted the Seeker. “It nicknames well, it’s not too hard to spell…”

Hawke stood up from the too-small chair, “I’ll just be going,” she attempted, just to have the two parents both grab at her to stay. “I have somewhere to be,” she tried. “But for the record, Varric, I’d rather be an Antonia than a Marian, especially if the name would honor someone that my parent cared about.  Carver was named after someone like that, and I envy him a bit.” Cassandra released her with an approving smile and nod, suddenly sure of her victory. “I’m headed for Lowtown,” she added, “to hand out food and so on.”

“Sorry, Hawke,” Varric took a deep breath, “But there’s something else.” He stood up and pulled a full sized chair out of the corner where it was tucked. “Have a seat, Cass,” he told the Seeker. “This might take a while, and you know the healer says you have to stay off your feet or your ankles will start to swell.”

The Seeker frowned at the reminder, but sat down all the same. “You should have a seat as well,” she told Hawke. “It’s about why you are having… troubles with demons.”

Hawke twisted the too small chair around and sat in it backwards, hoping it would be more comfortable. It wasn‘t.  But humans made dwarves sit in large furniture all the time and they never complained, she could attempt to do no less.   “Finally,” she sighed, “I hope you two have an explanation.”

“We wrote,” Varric insisted, “But you didn’t get the letter. You showed up months later… we thought you knew and decided to come anyway… That was pretty much Merrill‘s reaction…”

“That is not helpful,” Casssandra broke in. “Stop venting your misplaced guilt. We tried to tell her, Varric.” She looked at the Champion, and sighed, “The Inquisitor believes that the seven magisters used slave sacrifices beneath Kirkwall to reach the Golden City, thus the name ‘Sundermount’. Since the recent Breach, and Kirkwall’s… issues… she believes the thin Veil has gotten worse. She is of the opinion that no mage should ever live in or around Kirkwall. That the influence the thin Veil has here has created a storm of sorts that will always mean they are more easily corrupted and vulnerable to demonic influences. She is basing this partially on her own research, as well as your and Varric‘s investigation into that Seeker Band of Three.”

Hawke stared at the two of them. “You’re joking,” she managed at last. “She thinks… she thinks…”

“She thinks Kirkwall is no place for you or any mage,” Varric summed up, still looking guilty. “If I had known you didn’t get my letter…” his words trailed off. “And since you’ve gotten here… fuck, Hawke, you’re the strongest mage I’ve ever met, excepting perhaps the Iron Lady - and I would pay money to see that fight -” Cassandra nudged him to get him back on track, “But you’ve already nearly been possessed once. Maybe twice, if you count last night. I‘ve never seen you affected like that,” he finished lamely. “Maker’s Breath, I’m sorry, Hawke.”

“Do you two want me to leave?” Hawke asked quietly, her heart racing with panic. “Are you frightened of me, and what I could do? Are you scared for your child?”

“NO!” Varric and Cassandra both reached out their hands.

“But you deserve to know the risk,” Cassandra continued, a great deal more gently. “Because if it gets worse…” she pressed her lips together firmly.

“Then if you don’t want me to go, I’m not leaving,” Hawke summed up, and stood. “I’m still the Champion. It will take more than a few demons to make me leave my home again. And Merrill knows?”

Varric snorted, “We tried to tell her, and she looked at us like we were dumb. She knew all along, or so she claimed, but she insisted it didn’t make a difference, that it was still about strength of will. And she said she was corresponding with someone that was trying to figure it out. She wouldn’t tell me who.” He exchanged a glance with Cassandra who looked worried. “We both have a suspicion, but we’ve chosen to trust that Merrill will make the right decision.”

“Then I will depend on my strength of will,” Hawke said lightly, though she was a little shaken. “I have exceptional willpower. I wish I had gotten that letter, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Where else would I have gone after Weisshaupt?”

Varric nodded, resigned. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

Hawke laughed at her friend, “Varric, I’m pretty sure we’re friends because we drag each other into each other’s messes. Look where you are, because of me. Viscount to a crumbling city with a horrific past? Consider that thanks for dragging me through the Deep Roads, making my fortune, and eventually into the Inquisition. Now, I’m heading to Lowtown,” she repeated, “I might be late for dinner, so…”

“We won’t wait up,” Varric smirked weakly. “Say hey to Princeling.” Hawke made a face at him. “I thought you hated the nickname Choir Boy?”

“It’s better than Princeling,” she retorted. “Keep working on it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This song actually exists. It's one of my favorite folk songs ever, called "The Spinning Wheel". In it, a young woman is spinning and singing and her blind grandmother falls asleep slowly to the whirring while her lover whispers that he's waiting just out the window. Grandma falls asleep and she sneaks out. My Hawke doesn't always agree with my tastes, but she loves that song. ;) When she's had a little too much, it's what she ends up singing. It's Irish, but I've given it to Ferelden, because I can. :P


	14. Leaving Sorrow's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have been in sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots, then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands." - Zora Neale Hurston

The area in front of the make-do Chantry was filled with familiar looking crates and barrels, mostly with the Starkhaven seal on them, and labeled neatly with the kind of efficiency that Kirkwall didn't seem capable of.  Various Sisters and the new Grand Cleric were milling around to assist the people already lined up with tense and embarrassed looks on their faces.  Hawke grinned at a child or three, making them dart behind their parents with wide eyes. 

Sebastian and his men had long since started work, but his face lit up when he saw her, doubts clouding the joy in his eyes, but fading when she smiled back at him, far more shyly than she could ever remember smiling before, and moved towards the crates still remaining, to begin sorting sizes and items. “At least in this, it’s all manual labor,” she pointed out to him when he stepped towards her tentatively. “Your men can’t complain if I help this way.”

“I was wondering,” Sebastian started slowly, “If we could take the day off tomorrow.”

Hawke looked at him, surprised. “A day off? Did you have something you need to do? Is there a problem with your city? Should I send for Varric or Aveline? Can I help?” Her mind leapt to impending disaster with the ease of an August Ram.

“No!” Sebastian laughed, in protest. “I wanted to take a day with you,” he admitted softly. “The men are tired, and could use a day of rest - we’ve been working hard - and I… wanted to spend some time with you that… wasn’t just in your bedchamber.” He blushed a bit tanner, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Hawke looked him over, a little wary. “All right. What did you have in mind?”

“Really?” His voice was a little too high, in his enthusiasm, and he made an effort to stifle it. “I thought we could go for a walk on the Coast. Seeing as leisure activities in Kirkwall aren‘t exactly something to brag about at the moment.”

Hawke looked at him in disbelief, and cracked a smile, “They never were unless you liked Wallop matches.  I doubt you want to spend the day with Uncle Gamlen anyway.  I’ll ask Aveline about how busy the Raiders have been,” she acquiesced. “I’ll have to leave early to catch her, but…”

Sebastian grinned, “I already asked. Donnic is supervising us today, and he said there hadn’t been anything for several weeks. It’s his regular route. It should be clear.”

Hawke looked skeptical, “I’ve never managed to go to the Coast without encountering some form of illegal activity. Aveline must be doing a very good job for there to be nothing.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Sebastian shrugged. Hawke remained skeptical. “Well, we’d go armed,” he laughed, “With the Champion’s permission, of course,” he bowed politely. “Since the Coast isn’t actually the city of Kirkwall…” he leaned in, “Perhaps I wouldn’t even need to ask.” His lips were very close again, and Hawke was staring at them, remembering the night before, as his eyes flicked to hers the same way.

At that moment, Hawke realized half the citizens of nosy Kirkwall were watching them, muttering and tittering. “Fine,” she muttered, and stepped back to notice the half-hidden critical eyes of the Starkhaven men, not a single one amused. “We’ll go,” she repeated, not meeting his eyes, and buried herself in the crates, lifting out piles of clothing easily. “Just meet me in the morning after breakfast.”

Sebastian looked confused at her rapid withdrawal, but then caught the eyes of his men, and comprehension dawned. “Be grateful,” he told them, turning back to work. “The Champion is going to allow you a day of rest tomorrow.”

“Bet resting’s not what you’ll be doing,” one of them grumbled under his breath, and Sebastian stiffened.

“Do not disrespect your Prince!” Another barked before Sebastian could reply. “If you don’t want to be here, you can leave, but don’t go whining back to Starkhaven, either, Ryan! If you can’t be loyal, you’re not needed.”

“I fight my own battles, Marcus,” Sebastian managed. “And yes, I will not be resting with you. I have a prior engagement, not that it is any of your business.”

“He’ll be with me,” Hawke regained her composure and sense of self, walking over and setting down her burden on the makeshift trestle table firmly. “Just so that everyone here knows. Is there a problem with that?” She glared equally at both the stubborn Starkhaven men and the nosy Kirkwallers and they all averted their eyes. “Good,” she said when she met only silence. “Remember, you are in this city at my bequest alone, and mind your manners,” she finished and swept her eyes out to the people of Kirkwall. “That goes for all of you, too,” she added as an afterthought. “No one messes with these men while they are here. Understood? They are under my protection, as well as the Viscount‘s.”

The people nodded, a few adding a gentle, “Yes, Champion,” to their assents and the work continued, late into the day and into the evening, with noticeable tension between the two groups, the crowd slowly decreasing as the sun set, and Kirkwall’s citizens left for the shelter of their own homes, long since accustomed to avoiding the dangers that emerged after dark on the city streets.

Sebastian and Hawke walked with Donnic back to Amell House, leaving both the men and Donnic behind, with a few words of thanks to the overworked guard, and then made their way back to the Keep alone, very carefully not touching, and Hawke feeling all the strangeness of their new arrangement.

Sebastian broke the silence first. “This is more awkward than my first Summersday ribbon dance,” he observed. “Maker, talk to me, or I’ll go mad wondering what you‘re thinking.”

“You do ribbon dances in Starkhaven?” Hawke smiled in memory. “We did in Lothering as well. My first wasn’t awkward though.  Not exactly.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Sebastian chuckled, “no doubt you were graceful and lovely. I tangled up all the ribbons on purpose, trying to steal a kiss from a specific young lady that was interested in my middle brother - just to make him angry, naturally. I was a tit.”

“Actually, I used magic,” Hawke admitted. “I had the pole all woven up tight in about two minutes, and the Sisters that had arranged the activity were furious with me. My parents were livid. I almost got carried off to the Circle, but my da…” she laughed, “My da claimed they couldn’t know that it was me, for sure, there were so many other children there. So I got off, but I was never allowed to dance on Summersday again,” she giggled at the memory. “That was my first close call as an apostate. I had nearly forgotten.”

“Your… da?” Sebastian smiled. “I’ve never heard you call Malcolm that before.”

“Well, it’s what I called him to his face,” Hawke looked down at her feet tracing the familiar steps to the Keep by rote, lost in memory. “At least when I was a kid.”

“Do you ever want children?” Sebastian asked gently.

“Not unless the world changes,” Hawke said bluntly, all at once shocked out of the memory. “Any child of mine would have better than even odds of being… like me. Even my mother reminded me once that it runs in the family, even though she was desperate to have grandchildren. I wouldn’t wish this so called gift on my worst enemy. I’m like my father that way, though apparently he could have shown a little more self-control, if it mattered that much. Maker’s Breath, two out of three children? The odds are _not_ in my favor. Besides, I‘m not a teacher - I‘m not sure I could teach a child control like my father did for me. And I wouldn‘t want to send them away, obviously. The College needs to break loose of the Circle mentality, and find another way... or five. But I‘m not eligible to join the College, since I‘m not an Enchanter. I was never Harrowed.” She punctuated her minor tirade with a deep breath.

“I wouldn’t mind having a child like you,” Sebastian admitted easily, despite her level of emotion on the topic, “and I bet you would be a better teacher than you think. But there are other options. The College of Enchanters is teaching free classes to mage children in Starkhaven. Teaching them control, simple spells, developing latent talents. We‘ll see where they go with it. What you want is good to know, given... our circumstances. I’ve named my heir in any case.”

“You have?” Hawke was surprised. “Who? Isn‘t your entire family gone?”

“Distant cousin,” Sebastian supplied thoughtfully. “He was born in Markham and still lives there. If I had children of my own, it would be different, but I didn’t want there to be a civil war over my succession like is brewing in Nevarra. Only a few people know, and he’s not one of them, and his parents are practical people. I want him to grow up as normally as possible, and once he‘s a little older, I‘ll ask formally. We must learn from the mistakes of our neighbors, and in my case, from my parents. I don‘t want him to be a target.”

Hawke nodded, “Nevarra is going to be a mess,” she agreed. “Cassandra is well out of it, not that I could imagine her wanting to try to claim it, either. Varric says her parents died in the second attempt to oust King Markus. Hardly something she’d want to repeat.”

“I didn’t realize,” Sebastian looked awed. “She’s that close to the throne?”

Hawke blew a raspberry, “Hardly, more like seventy-something in line, depending on who exactly has reproduced and died. But you know what the Pentaghasts are like. Most of them wouldn‘t let a little thing like a number get between them and taking the throne. Determined, stubborn lot. Probably why they are so good at fighting dragons, or used to be. Cassandra claims none of them actually do it anymore, resting on their ancestors‘ laurels instead of earning their own.  She's rather disdainful of her entire family.  It's refreshing.”

“Good point,” he laughed, entering the Keep together, and turning towards the private residence. “They won’t let _you_ join the College?” he marveled. “What are they thinking?”

“It’s meant to restrict maleficar,” Hawke grinned at his surprise. “Look how well that’s worked for them. I don’t really mind, though having a little say in how mages are treated would be... but sharing my opinion hasn't worked out for me.  No one listens to the unrepentant apostate. In the end, I think it will be decided city by city, nation by nation. Mages will go where they are treated fairly, and those desiring power will fight for it accordingly, just like those without magic. The power hungry are not limited by their gifts.Cassandra’s fledgling Seekers will be needed, but hopefully not for a little while,” she said softly. “It would be nice if those like me could learn from our mistakes before we start making new ones.”

“Those like you,” Sebastian muttered. “You keep saying that.” He looked at her with a frown. “You aren’t that different, Marian.”

“I wish everyone thought that,” she winced, remembering the looks on the Starkhaven faces.

“Well, I do, at least,” Sebastian murmured, just as they reached her door. He lifted his hand to touch her face gently. “May I?” he asked, stroking her hair back behind her ear.

“Not out here,” she laughed, “We’ll have the news around Kirkwall in two minutes.”

“It already is,” Sebastian countered. “I was dealing with both rude and ribald comments for at least an hour before you graced us with your presence.” The teasing tone of his voice complimented the rolling of his ‘r’s a little too well, and he traced her jaw with a thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke stammered, wondering what was wrong with her voice, “I didn’t… I should have realized. All Kirkwallers are nosy. It’s a cultural thing. And we‘re probably the most interesting piece of gossip since Varric knocked up Cassandra and brought her home from the Exalted Council visibly pregnant and still unmarried.”

Sebastian shook his head, dismissing the rumors easily, “I lived here for years, Marian,” he reminded her. “I know how they are. It’s fine. I’ve been living in a bubble in Starkhaven for too long to let a little gossip bother me.” He was leaning in at the same time she was.

Their lips met gently, but Hawke smiled slightly after a second, and pulled back. “So you are allowing the College of Enchanters to teach classes in Starkhaven?” She shook her head, “I wouldn’t have thought that of you, Choir Boy,” she teased. “Shouldn’t magic serve man?”

“Yes, well, I’m full of surprises, lately,” Sebastian smiled and kissed her again, a slightly more lingering touch of lips that she longed to follow up on. “And yes, it should, and it is. Mage children need training, and not all of their parents are as thorough or as experienced as your father. Besides, do you realize how handy having magic users around is? Starkhaven is chock full of very practical people, Champion,” he bent his head down and lifted his eyes back up to meet hers, searching for approval in them. “They’re providing valuable services.”

“I’m impressed,” Hawke murmured. “Obviously you’ve been making a few positive changes.”

Sebastian shrugged, “Yes, well, without Circles, something needed to be done, and the mages that could not travel to the conclave had no where to go. I didn‘t want any of them to be desperate like… happened here, and I was somewhat sympathetic, though not as much as I could have been,” he admitted. “The first mage should have been you,” he said softly. “I will regret that forever.”

“Regret doesn’t change anything,” Hawke sighed, pulling back again, to attempt to enter her room, only to have him reach out and grab her hand.

“Marian,” he started, looking at her earnestly, “It‘s not just regret… I…”

“Oh, good, you’re back!” Varric’s door slammed open far down the hallway, and Sebastian sighed, but refused to release her when she tried to slip her hand away, still holding her gaze. “Hawke! I have something…” he stopped and looked guiltily satisfied, “I’m interrupting.”

“Oh no,” Hawke rolled her eyes sarcastically. “His Highness and I were just looking for a speck of wood in each other’s eyes. So by all means, interrupt. I‘m fairly sure we determined that neither of us suffer from such a foreign object.” Sebastian stifled a laugh.

“Sorry, Hawke,” Varric apologized, “But I just got a letter from the Inquisitor and…” he looked suspiciously at Sebastian.

“I have nothing personal against the Inquisition,” Sebastian allowed, “but I will absent myself if you would rather discuss it privately.”

“Hmmm,” Varric weighed his presence, “Whatever. Stay if you like, it’s personal, not political. Well, mostly,” He grinned, “Asta doesn’t really separate the two. Says she hates politics, and then tears the world apart in order to piece it back together like a crazy quilt, and makes her personal decisions based on what is best for Thedas instead of herself. I hope she’s moving away from that. It’s a dangerous place to go, when you start sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the world.” Varric looked at Hawke pointedly and she rolled her eyes again. “Anyway, she finished her book, Hawke. She’s sent me the draft, to read and send on to my editor and publisher. She says it practically wrote itself, once she started. Apparently the library at Minrathous is the first wonder of the world.” He flipped through the lengthy letter, counting, “She took five pages to describe the history section alone. That‘s some library.”

Hawke looked confused and frowned, “And why would I care? If I remember, the Inquisitor is a massive brainiac, Varric. I’m not likely to read it. I don‘t read anything more difficult than the Randy Dowager.” Sebastian snorted and she flashed him a grin.

“You’ll want to read this book,” Varric asserted with a smile of his own, confident and cocky. “She’s written an entire book, based on evidence gathered with the Inquisition and her time in Minrathous, asserting that Andraste was a blood mage.”

“Blessed Andraste on a piece of flatbread,” Hawke cussed, floored. “Is she trying to get arrested for heresy, _again_? I was in the fucking Anderfels and I heard about her trial! She‘s lucky to be alive!”

Varric just laughed. “Yeah, well, she says it won’t happen twice. She claims in the letter that the Divine is on her side. Not sure Leliana has a side, but you know… She _was_ already found guilty. Asta’s serving her time in exile. Best time to publish such a thing, if you ask me, which she didn‘t. And now the Inquisition is separate from the Chantry, and… I’d say she can write whatever the fuck she wants.” He nodded, a trifle impressed, “And she’s making a great argument. Cassandra is in there waffling and grabbing her copy of the Chant to check the facts. She’s halfway through Threnodies double-checking Asta’s quotes and referencing it to the blood magic she witnessed with the Seekers. I‘m only fifty pages in, and I want Merrill to read it. It would probably cheer her up a bit about some of her life choices. I‘ll have to have Asta arrange to send her a copy.”

“The Inquisitor thinks that Andraste was a blood mage?” Sebastian’s eyes had never looked so wide. “Merciful Maker,” he breathed. “That makes so much sense. But even the Imperial Chantry has never claimed such a thing. They wouldn‘t dare! The Divine will have her killed!”

Hawke staggered at his unpredictable response and leaned up against the wall. “Pardon,” she managed, “I thought you said…”

“I was a Brother with the Chantry, Hawke. I spent years studying the Chant. This makes so much _sense_ ,” Sebastian breathed again. “All those references to the blood, and the Chant doesn’t say anything about what she repented _from_ , after all. And I’ve seen Merrill do exactly those sort of things time and again!” He started pacing. “I need to read the Chant. Varric, can I read that book?” He demanded. “I need to read it before the Starkhaven Chantry bans it out of hand. They already banned your biography of her, though I managed to get my hands on a copy first.” He hesitated, confused, “But I thought her given name was Evelyn? Isn‘t she from Ostwick? Asta doesn‘t sound like an Ostwick name. If anything it sounds rather… Avvar.”

“Not before it’s published,” Varric grinned and avoided his last two questions agilely, “But I’ll be sure and tell her that you’re itching to read it. She’ll be flattered,” he hesitated with barely hidden delight, and continued, “Probably. She’s pissed with you after what you pulled here, and subjecting Hawke to sexual rejection again and again… Asta takes that stuff pretty seriously. If I heard it once I heard it a dozen times how evil you were to…” 

“And… the Inquisitor knows too much about my love life,” Hawke summed up to Sebastian, crossing her arms defensively. “I was drunk, she was drunk. We were in the Western Approach for a long time, with all these bottles of alcohol that she kept finding in weird places, with a necromancer and a Qunari warrior rutting against each other in the tent next door - it was miserable, I swear, sand everywhere, I have no idea how they found the energy or inclination - and the love of her sheltered little life was stuck in Skyhold, and I was... me... so we talked and drank. She‘s not bad company, if a total lightweight and too smart for her own good. Insane, of course, but who isn‘t in this age? Certainly not me.”  She looked confused, "Didn't you meet her?  She was in Kirkwall for a few years, before she left to go back to Ostwick after I killed the Arishok.  She remembers you.  Why do you think you came up at all?"

Sebastian's eyes widened even further.  "We've met?  No... I don't remember an Asta... but it was a turbulent time for me.  Perhaps if I saw her, I would remember..." Varric's smugness oozed out of his pores and even Sebastian noticed. "Varric, how many lies were in that book?  Would I even know her from your descriptions?"  He sighed, "She's probably not even a redhead, is she?  Maker forgive me for believing a single word you write.  When do I get to hear the truth?"

Varric snickered and didn't answer, addressing Hawke instead to deflect the questions, “Did you read her letters to and from Curly?”

Hawke rolled her eyes, “Of course. What else did I have to do? I should have realized Ser Cullen was a virgin. Maker’s Breath, he should have just dropped into the Rose and popped his…” she stopped again, impressed at Sebastian’s dumbfounded look.

“Ser Cullen was a virgin?” He sniggered, and then laughed, and then nearly fell over in amusement, stopped only by the wall. “No wonder he was such… a prude! So uptight!”

“Look who’s talking, Prince ‘My Balls Belong to the Maker‘,” Varric gritted out. “But yeah, the Inquisitor more than took care of that, let me tell you, and fast - my bet was on three years, but Sparkler played dirty. I keep expecting them to announce Curly, Jr.‘s imminent arrival. Hopefully not before they get the fuck out of Minrathous, though I bet Sparkler would be chuffed if a baby were a ‘Vint... but Curly would rather die than let that happen. Dog lord through and through, that one. Anyway, she says here that she’s going to stop by on her way back through to Skyhold, hopefully meet Squirt, talk to the editor about the necessary changes. It’ll take her a while to get this far and it will be a few months, probably, before the manuscript is ready. My editor is a cruel woman and Asta will make her cry.” Varric smiled shark-like in anticipation. “I’ll make sure to be in on the meeting.”

“I may have taken a vow before the Maker,” Sebastian declared regally, and completely off topic, “but I never was, or ever will be, a prude,” he argued, rather insulted and glaring at Varric.

Hawke let her impulses get the best of her. “Prove it,” she flirted openly, “I have a near decade’s worth of denials that say exactly the opposite, Vael.”

“You, Choir Boy, are entirely too easy to manipulate.  You are welcome, Hawke.  And, with that, my work here is done,” Varric grinned. “Have fun, you two!” He wandered back off, chuckling until the door shut behind him with a firm click, the sheaf of paper still held in his hand, leaving Sebastian and Hawke alone once more.


	15. Hope is the thing with feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title will probably be recognized by a few more people: Emily Dickinson's Poem 314
> 
> "Hope is the thing with feathers -  
> That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all -
> 
> And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
> And sore must be the storm -  
> That could abash the little Bird  
> That kept so many warm -
> 
> I've heard it in the chillest land -  
> And on the strangest Sea -  
> Yet - never - in Extremity,  
> It asked a crumb - of me."

Sebastian let his glare go, and leaned in, his arm propped above her head on the wall she was still slumped against. “I’d love to,” he admitted willingly enough. “If you wanted to invite me. I won‘t make the mistake of entering again without an express invitation, my Champion.”

Hawke looked at him sideways and turned the doorknob behind her back. “Is that so? Then come in, Prince Vael,” she laughed openly, and let her eyes wander down his form. “I’ll ring for something to eat.” She went for the bell, but a maid arrived before she could ring with a small tray of cold food, “Thank you,” Hawke said, surprised. “How did you know…”

“The Viscount told us that you and the Prince would likely be hungry,” the maid curtseyed. “Some fruit juice and water will be up directly, Champion. Sorry, I‘m the only one still here, or we would have brought it all at once.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian offered. “And thank the Viscount on my behalf. That was thoughtful.” The maid curtseyed again, and closed the door after her with a small smile.

Hawke took a piece of bread and cold meat and cheese and piled it up, a little too high, as Sebastian eyed her creation warily. “What? I’m hungry!” She protested. “ _I_ wasn’t raised in a palace, Sebastian. I’m not going to stand on ceremony, especially in the privacy of my own chambers. I’m not trying to impress anyone in here.”

“On the contrary,” Sebastian protested, “I’m very impressed that you think you’re going to fit all of that into your mouth.”

“Sebastian Vael, you have no idea how much I can fit into my mouth,” Hawke replied, and only then realized what she had said. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she muttered, taking a bite of her impromptu sandwich to hide her embarrassment.

“But that’s what you said,” Sebastian chuckled. “Would you like me to tell you what I’d like in my mouth?” Hawke blinked, “I told you I wasn’t a prude, Hawke."

Hawke swallowed, “Let me finish my sandwich without choking and I’d love to hear more,” Hawke managed, still surprised. “I’m just in shock. I wasn’t prepared for Brother Sebastian to say something… suggestive.”

“There is nothing innocent about what I have been thinking about doing with you,” Sebastian’s eyes had grown dark and Hawke swallowed again, her mouth dry, with no sandwich in the way as an excuse. “I thought you were aware, all teasing about former titles aside. I have been burning for you since the moment I saw you in Starkhaven threatening to incinerate my palace.”

She broke away from his eyes to indicate the tray. “I wasn’t going to burn down your palace. I have better control than that. Help yourself. The ham doesn’t taste like despair, thank the Maker. I’ve had enough Despair in my life lately.”

“You need a little hope,” Sebastian ignored the tray to cross the room, Merrill‘s words running through his brain. “Can I be the one to give it to you?” he took her sandwich from her and set it down, threading his fingers back through hers, making her heart pound louder than she could remember it beating for some time.

“I…” Hawke wasn’t used to being the one pursued, and she floundered a bit. “That would be… nice? I… wonder what Hope would sound like, if Despair shrieks,” she mused, almost to herself.

“You’ve never heard Hope?” Sebastian shook his head. “Seems a shame that mages get all the worst attention and little of the better side of things,“ he muttered to himself. “But if Despair shrieks,” he started thinking hard, “all discordant and wordless, then Hope…” he smiled, inspired, “Hope would sing, Marian.”

“You’re probably right,” Hawke managed, lost in thought and in his eyes. “I could do with hearing some singing,” she admitted.

“Then may I?” Sebastian reached her side and took her hand. “Because I’ve been hearing singing since last night, and I’d like to share.” He bent his head to her lips, but a knock on the door pulled them apart with a curse on Hawke’s part and a laugh on his. “Of course, an interruption,” he shook his head. “Varric planned this, didn't he.”

Hawke stepped away and pulled the door open while Sebastian settled into what she was beginning to think of as his chair. Another maid stood there with two pitchers of water and juice, “Thank you,” Hawke took it, briskly efficient. “We won’t need anything else.”

“Of course, Serah,” tittered the maid, winking cheekily. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” Hawke flushed slightly and shut the door with her foot, a trifle quicker than necessary.

“Servants,” she muttered swinging the tray down. “I got used to not having any.”

“They can be a pain,” Sebastian agreed willingly enough. “For me, mostly, because they have a tendency to walk in while I’m bathing. I had to have several screens moved in to preserve my modesty,” he admitted. “I’m pretty sure they were doing it on purpose, but I couldn’t prove it.”

“And you said you weren’t a prude,” Hawke poured herself some juice and drank it, and then some water.

“It wasn’t for that reason,” he said, affronted, “It was because they kept offering to scrub my back.”

“It’s a back worth scrubbing,” Hawke complimented. “I’m not surprised they made the offer.”

“And would you?” The Prince smiled at her.

“What, scrub your back or walk in on you on purpose?” Hawke teased.

“Either,” he grinned in challenge.

Hawke pretended to think. “Only if you scrubbed mine first. And as for the other… I don’t peep, Prince Vael.”

“And you think you don’t have a moral compass. If you don’t peep, my Champion, then what were you doing down by the Rose that first day?”

“You were mostly clothed,” Hawke justified. “And yes, you were very pretty, and sweaty, and… muscular… but you were in public,” she defended. “There for anyone to look at. Can you blame me for appreciating the scenery?” She handed him a glass of water. “That wasn’t peeping. It was ogling.”

“Ogling,” Sebastian said softly. “I see, that is a difference.”

“Especially since apparently you knew I was there all along,” Hawke finished, somewhat triumphantly. “Peeping, hypothetically, of course, as I have never done such a thing, is done in secret. It is morally reprehensible, and I, as the possessor of a moral compass that apparently occasionally points due north, would never do such a thing.”

“I thought maybe you were looking at Marcus,” Sebastian admitted, insecurely. “He has more bulk.”

“I don’t like bulk,” Hawke met his eyes. “And I was only looking at one of your work party. Aveline, on the other hand, had rather wandering eyes. Donnic would be very amused. But she probably confessed as soon as she got home out of sheer guilt, and then he would have shown her how much he didn‘t care. There is something to be said for Kirkwall men,” she mused. “Not a jealous bone in their body.”

“Who was it?” Sebastian wondered aloud, self-consciously. “If it wasn’t Marcus, then you wouldn’t like Gawain. Or Piers, or…”

Hawke made her way back to the small table and sat in the other chair. “You, Sebastian,” she smiled, letting her eyelashes sweep up as she met his eyes boldly, comfortable now that she was the one in pursuit again. “I was looking at you. As for what I like, I like the way your hips angle into your breeches, and the way your forearms are lean, but your shoulders are built up.” She purred now, but there were no demons in her mind. “I liked the cut of your waist, and the lines of your chest.” She sat back, and took another drink of water, weighing his reaction to her words. “And yes, I like your back. You’re lean, but not skinny. Also the shape of your hands… and how cleverly they nock your arrows… they make me think about… things.” She raised her eyebrow suggestively.

“Hmm,” Sebastian looked at her closely. “No demons?”

“No demons,” Hawke confirmed easily. “That is just truth. I also... but I think I’ll keep that to myself for now, though. A girl has to keep some secrets. And your head might get too big if I give you any more compliments. You‘ve shown an inclination to pride before, after all.”

“I want to know all your secrets,” Sebastian dared her.

“Then I’ll make you guess them,” she dared back, “When we go for our heavily armed walk along the Wounded Coast. If you earn them, at least you’ll have a reason for the pride.”

“That would be distracting,” Sebastian swallowed, his gaze weighted. “A guessing game, then. The first thing I want to guess is what you did to keep the Desire demons away,” a slow smile drifted across his lips, tilting sideways haphazardly. “Deal?”

“You’re going to guess that?” Hawke leaned in, propping her elbows on the table. “That will take a lot of guesses. And most of them will be right,” she flashed back with a cheeky smile. “You’ll hardly have earned them at all.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian chuckled. “Well then, Marian Hawke, I do believe I have a reason to stay up all night thinking about you in very lurid ways.”

“Going so soon?” Hawke taunted. “I did invite you in, so that you could prove you weren’t a prude, after all.”

“I’ll prove it tomorrow with my guesses,” Sebastian countered, teasing wickedness coloring the blue of his eyes. “Until then…” he stood.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Hawke protested, sitting back up. “You could stay. I won’t sleep for hours!”

“Neither will I, and I will pray your reason for insomnia is as pleasant as mine,” he crossed over and pulled her up out of her chair and hesitated for the briefest moment. “May I?”

“Maker, yes,” Hawke said and kissed him, moving against him, her hands cupping his jaw and circling his ears, his teasing words playing across her body as if his hands had been there instead. But instead of kissing her back, he kissed her gently, his tongue barely meeting hers, so that she was clutching at the back of his head, trying to push him along, to work her up further. Eventually she pulled back, “You’re doing that on purpose,” she accused, amused and frustrated.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian stopped just short of admitting it, and took a piece of fruit from the tray, biting into the pear and wiping the juice from his chin with his other thumb. “Until tomorrow morning, Marian,” he laughed, and walked out her door, leaving her tormented.

“Sebastian Vael,” she stepped out into the hallway, half meaning to pull him back into the room, until he spun back, winking, walking backwards for just a moment, and then turned around and went on his way. “Damn him,” she cursed, walking back into her room and staring at the other pear blankly. “I don’t know how to use my wiles,” she mocked impotently with a poor excuse for a Starkhaven accent. “Liar,” she laughed, and then realized that maybe he didn’t, on other women. Maybe they would only work on her.

Andraste knew that she was more irritated with his teasing than when he had been more aggressive. But bloody Void, he could do both, and she shuddered inwardly with the knowledge, wondering which side of Sebastian would take the stage in lovemaking, or if, Maker‘s Breath, he wouldn‘t take sides at all, and instead keep her guessing. It took her a while to fall asleep, thinking about such things, and once she did, rather predictably, her dreams weren’t empty.

They started out safe enough, with sweet sounds from a hazy spirit, but she was quickly preoccupied with the purring of a demon that tried to turn into moans and movement, and she had to take control. She put the demon off, held back - determining that no man who had been celibate for so many years would be that skilled - even if he did remember how to kiss. And the eyes… the eyes were the wrong shade of blue. Not like the Wounded Coast, but more like the glaciers she had seen in the Anderfels, instead, all reflected ice instead of the warm teasing blue of her recent memories. So she banished the Desire demon from her dream, and looked at the spirit instead, far less corporeal. “You’re Hope,” she said to it cautiously, remembering the conversation. “I’ve never met you before.”

“I think that’s what I’m trying to be,” it replied with a sweet voice. “Someone asked me to find you.”

Hawke stared at it. “Who?” she asked finally, a hundred questions that she probably shouldn’t be asking a spirit clustering in her brain.

The spirit flittered in confusion. “I barely know what I want to be, I‘m not sure...”

“I’ve never heard of a spirit trying to be anything,” Hawke told it. “They just… are. Aren‘t they?”

“It has been done before,” the spirit claimed. “Compassion managed. I can see that you met him. And so I am trying. But I want to stay here, and he needed to be there. Here is where I can help, where I‘m needed. Compassion nearly lost himself, and I don‘t want that.”

Hawke enforced her willpower. “I have no desire to share…”

“I am not Vengeance,” the spirit’s voice grew shriller, and then calmed. “I have a long way to go before I am Hope,” it warped for a moment. “But I am trying,” it insisted. “You can help me, and I can help you, if you let me.”

Hawke tried to relax - Hope was no threat, but its counterpart was deadly. She made a decision. “I have a friend that says Hope should sing,” Hawke offered. “Does that help you?” If she could stop the spirit from being corrupted into Despair…

“Yes!” The spirit lifted itself up a bit, looking a bit more solid. “Yes, that helps,” it said. “I will try to sing. But singing is harder than…” it flickered again.

“It is,” Hawke sympathized, “But all right,” Hawke shifted herself away from a defensive position. “I’m going to wake up now, Hope. You try to sing.” She shook her head, wondering that she was encouraging what the Chantry would surely claim was a demon in disguise to be something… else. But if Merrill was right… maybe it was all about what you expected to see, when you entered the Fade. Perhaps she could feed Hope, and starve Despair? She shook her head in confusion, reminding herself that she was no scholar and no Enchanter, with years of learning under her belt. All she could do was fumble and hope it was the right thing to do.

That hadn’t precisely worked for her in the past, but this… felt different.  So... she would hope.

“So should you,” the spirit warbled, like a songbird, as if in answer to her unspoken question.

With that, Hawke woke, dawn shining in her windows and an answer on her lips. “I don’t know how,” she sighed. “That‘s part of the problem.” She went about her morning, bathing before going down to breakfast in her armor, with a staff at her side, uncharacteristically serious and thoughtful.

Sebastian was already there, and stood when she entered, making Varric roll his eyes at the unnecessary manners. He pulled out a chair for her, as Cassandra smiled and nudged her would-be-husband, her palm up. He clinked two silvers into her hand and Cassandra smugly pocketed the money.

“Yes, he’s polite,” Varric grumbled. “I noticed, Cass. That‘s only one thing. One positive thing. Don’t count your riches yet. So what do you two have going today, all dressed in armor and weapons at your side?” Hawke noticed the well-made bow that Sebastian had leaned up against the wall, but with no arrows in sight. He was keeping his word. “Clearing out the Bone Pit? Hubert‘s long gone, Hawke, so it‘s probably all yours legally.”

“We’re taking the day off,” Hawke supplied, smiling a little at Sebastian, feeling the ease in her chest at the admission.

“What, really?” Varric nearly stuttered. “You never take a day off. What are you going to do with it?”

“Talking a walk on the Wounded Coast,” Hawke offered. “We’ll need to get into the armory, Varric, and get some arrows for Prince Vael. Is that all right? I‘m vouching for his good behavior,” she flashed a wry grin at the archer who lifted an eyebrow, as if to insinuate that he was capable of something else.

Varric choked into his teacup. “Hawke, is that a good idea? Just the two of you? There are still raiders and slavers… though Aveline is doing a great job…” he caught the eye of Cassandra, full of frowns with the implied criticism of her friend, and ended the sentence abruptly. “Is that really a day off?”

“I think we’ll manage, Varric,” Hawke grinned. “I’ve been traveling on my own for years. I’m pretty sure I know when to run.”

“You‘ve never run from a fight before,” but Varric twisted a smile back. “Have fun then,” he shook his head. “Next time try the Sundermount, the spiders,” and Hawke shuddered, “the spiders are greatly improved,” he laughed at her. “I wonder after last night how much walking you’ll be doing though,” he waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Plenty,” Hawke threw her napkin at him playfully. “I’ve had enough of sand in my knickers after the Western Approach, Varric. Haven’t you?”

“I didn’t spend the time there that you did,” Varric reminded her. “Just Adamant and after, really. You made the Inquisitor leave me behind because of the Wardens, remember? You were all worried about them using me as a blood sacrifice, if it all went to pot, as if they didn‘t have enough volunteers on their own. I think she was touched by your concern.”

“What, she listened? I just figured you weren‘t in her first choice of team,” Hawke smiled widely, flattered. “No one ever listens to me. And for the record, my friend, _nothing_ happened last night.” Sebastian cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with the open assertion.

Varric shifted around so that he could face them both. “You two should take a lunch, then. Tell Cook and she’ll make one up.” He read her closely, and then peered at Sebastian, nodding, apparently satisfied that she was telling the truth when the former brother met his eyes mildly, without blushing or apology.

“I’ll do that,” Hawke took a bite of pastry. “Your cook is pretty good,” she admitted after chewing. “I didn’t know food in Kirkwall could taste this good. The stew at the Hanged Man has nothing on this.” Varric made a face at her insult.  "I should send Orana over for a few lessons.  She'd probably enjoy that.  I'll ask her.  Would your Cook mind?"

“She’s from Starkhaven,” Cassandra admitted. “You’ve met her. She delivered food to you two while you were filling sinkholes. Our housekeeper is from there, too. Varric has made a point of hiring people that were left without positions after the trouble. It was hard for those from Starkhaven to find positions here, after, especially widows.  And I'm sure she would be flattered to teach Orana.” Her voice was tinged with pride.

Varric looked seriously at Hawke. “You should probably ask for the food,” he admitted. “She holds a grudge against Choir Boy. On the other hand, who doesn‘t?  Certainly not me.”  Cassandra frowned and nudged him.

“I know,” Sebastian said softly. “I’m responsible for her husband‘s death. It must be hard, to have me here. I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to poison me yet.”

“We aren’t Antivan,” Varric choked in laughter. “Or Orlesian. Kirkwallers mainly just… hold grudges and never do anything about it,” he admitted. “Just sit on them, hold them down, express them occasionally, if the target of our ire comes within shooting distance and… grit our teeth otherwise.” He grinned pointedly at Sebastian.

“Hmmm,” Sebastian murmured around his tea cup, rather amused. “That sounds… bitter. Starkhaven tends to go for revenge mixed with the inevitable guilt that follows. She must have been here for a while then.”

“Yeah, well, it works for us, sort of,” Varric managed through gritted teeth, and then shoved back from the table. “Wish I could take a day off.”

“Then do it,” Cassandra demanded. “Nothing you have on your desk won’t wait.” She glared at him and Hawke watched her friend waver and then dissolve. “You can spend the day amusing me instead,” she offered. “I am bored. Every time I go to the Gallows now they look like they think I’m going to give birth _right there_ , and they try to send me home, Varric. It is intolerable.”

“All right,” Varric gave in all at once. “I know you have cabin fever, Cass. If you want, we can spend the day in the throne room, destroy a couple of training dummies, and read a book or two.”

Cassandra’s eyes glowed. “That would be wonderful,” she smiled at him softly. “Thank you,” she offered, touching his arm briefly. Hawke raised her eyebrows at her friend, unused to seeing him the object of open affection.

Varric ran his hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed, “Yeah, well, that’s me, Mr. Thoughtful,” he chuckled, as if he suddenly didn‘t care what they thought. “Enjoy yourselves with the raiders, you two.” He helped Cassandra out of her chair. “Let’s go kill some dummies, Cass.  Have a nice day.”

“We will,” Hawke assured him, “The same to both of you.”

Sebastian murmured to her, “Did they fill the throne room with training equipment? Where does Varric hold court?”

Hawke shrugged, “I don’t know if he even does, and I’m never going in there again. Not if I can help it, anyway. Terrible memories.” She smiled, despite the reminder, “Shall we fetch you some arrows to go with that fancy bow?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I realized I was going to have to write about a mage (gasp!) I started realizing just how likely it was that I was going to have to deal with the topics of spirits and so on. So many scribbles and ideas never made it in, but that American Lit survey class I had to take for my BA finally paid off. Zora Neale Thurston last week and Emily Dickinson today! My professor would probably try to humiliate me that I'm using it for fan fiction, but he was a withered old goat anyway. ;)
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to write Hope as confused, but a little less ruthless than Cole/Compassion, and aware that it couldn't offer much beyond the Veil. Cole came through (in my opinion) because he couldn't comfort the original Cole without a physical presence. Hope doesn't need to be physical. It's a construct, an uplifting idea that things will get better.
> 
> Kirkwall could use some Hope, don't you think?


	16. Waiting for the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the edge of NSFW, but it's talking, not smut. Yet. I will likely be upgrading to Explicit with the next chapter, just to be safe. Stupid fuzzy line about what is Mature vs. what is Explicit... but I don't want anyone to be caught by surprise.
> 
> Chapter title from Breaking Benjamin's 'Rain'.
> 
> "Rain, rain, go away  
> Come again another day  
> All the world is waiting for the sun
> 
> Is it you I want, or just the notion of  
> A heart to wrap around so I can find my way around  
> Safe to say from here, you're getting closer now  
> We are never sad, cause we are not allowed to be."

The Wounded Coast was largely abandoned, as usual, mossy rocks pointing upwards in black jagged teeth against the blue-grey of a rain heavy sky, and Hawke hesitated before clambering down a few rocks, limber enough, even in her Champion armor and holding a large wicker basket. “It’s going to rain,” worry leaking through her tone. “We’d better not go far.”

Sebastian shrugged, “I won’t melt. Will you?”

“No, but we’ll rust,” Hawke threw back. “Unless you have a rune tucked away to repel water somewhere in that fancy armor. But even Sandal was never _that_ good.”

Sebastian laughed, “Is this when you start teasing me for my choice of armor, again?”

Hawke sat on a low rock and tossed him an arch glance, “Maybe. You do seem to have a predilection for the white and almost glowing. And after I saw your palace, I’m almost positive that your whole family was that way. All of that tacky marble…” she snickered, raising her eyebrows.

Sebastian groaned, “And now with the marble. It was a matter of economy,” he stressed, “the local quarries were already overworked… and no one wanted to buy the white stuff,” he insisted, “because it stains and is horribly slippery when it gets wet - it rains a lot back home. It‘s not like I chose it personally! It was ages ago!”

Hawke burst out laughing, “So wait, Starkhaven’s palace is made out of white marble, _not_ because your whole family was holier-than-thou but because it was _cheap_?”

“Yes…” Sebastian admitted. “We’re rather… economical. As a generality, of course.”

Hawke shook her head, “Then I owe you an apology, Vael. I walked up to that palace and judged you the whole way,” she sniggered. “That doesn’t explain the armor though.”

Sebastian grinned and sat down next to her, picking up a loose rock and throwing it into the Waking Sea. “I… look good in white,” he explained, a trifle sheepishly. “Or so my grandmother used to tell me. I‘m pretty sure that Father took her opinions into account when he commissioned the armor for me. It seems the sort of thing she would have insisted upon.”

Hawke let a smile play around the corner of her lips, slightly flattered. “Sebastian Vael, are you trying to look good for me?”

He turned to face her. “Should I not?”

Hawke leaned in towards him. “No,” she said softly. “You’re right, white does look good on you.” It more than looked good, the tan of his skin contrasting with the pearly sheen of the armor. It made his eyes stand out, and his hair look more auburn than red. She realized she was staring, but couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I’m still trying to figure out these wiles you spoke of,” he sighed, looking at her eyes, but drifting down her mouth yet again, seemingly unable to keep them away. “But showing you respect by looking my best, when I can, seemed… possible? I‘ve spent most of my time here in my most practical clothes, after all, covered in rubble and dust.”

Hawke looked down at her own armor, patched and mended. “Hmm, well, now I regret my selection of attire,” she admitted. “I didn’t even think about it. I could have worn robes, I suppose. But I’ve been all over Thedas in this armor. It didn‘t seem like a good idea not to go to the Wounded Coast without it. I do have some nice things. Though I wore most of them in Starkhaven, and none of them are appropriate for a heavily armed walk along the Wounded Coast.  Though we aren't doing much walking, are we?”

“I like that armor,” Sebastian’s voice was like a caress. “Especially where it leaves your arm bare to show your tattoo. I like it far better than the clothes you were wearing to torment me in Starkhaven.”

Hawke looked surprised, “Really? I would have thought you would disapprove of tattoos in general.” She looked at him sideways, “But it was the clothes in Starkhaven that made you forward enough to attempt to kiss me.”  She smirked.

“Can’t disapprove of tattoos, since I have one of my own. Tattoos are a Starkhaven rite of passage. The brave make theirs always visible, like yours… but I was not brave.  I was stupid and cocky.  And it was not your clothes, Marian, that made me want to do something so inadvisable as to try to take what was not offered.”

“Where? Not on your back or chest…” Hawke was intrigued. “And what could you have possibly wanted on your body permanently, Prince Vael?”

Sebastian winked, “Do you want me to show you?”

Hawke thought, briefly tempted, and then shoved him off the rock playfully. “You… ass,” she muttered. “I bet you don’t have one at all. And if you do, it probably matches that horrible buckle.”

“I most certainly do, and it‘s _not_ Andraste. You must think I have the worst taste,” Sebastian climbed back up to the rock, hardly put off by her actions. “Weren’t we going to play a guessing game?”

“Hmmm,” Hawke’s mouth twisted, looking at the man next to her. “I’m regretting that decision, with the morning.”

“Almost afternoon,” Sebastian supplied readily. “Check the sun.”

“True enough,” Hawke agreed with a swift glance upward at the light slanting through the clouds, “And that does cast a different light on the subject, doesn’t it?”

Sebastian groaned, “Maker, I had forgotten your puns. So terrible, Marian.”

Hawke shrugged, “You don’t have to laugh at them,” but she was chuckling.

“And… you laugh at your own jokes,” Sebastian grinned in response. “I’d forgotten so much. Like the Chateau…”

“One of my best. The Duke has fallen from grace. Good stuff,” she giggled, remembering. “I had good timing and everything on that one. Varric loves that story. Told it to half the Inquisition, just while I was there.”

“Oh yes,” Sebastian was laughing now as well. “Maker, Leopold being sick bloody everywhere… I still have that cookbook.”

“Brother Sebastian, language,” Hawke teased. “Besides, we were going to play a guessing game, weren’t we? Let’s not drop the topic at hand to discuss wyvern vomit.”

“I think I can agree with that suggestion, without being overly upset.  So… things Marian Hawke has done to make Desire demons stay away… or… go away? Is that the clue?”

“It is,” Hawke smiled, and wouldn’t look at him, determined not to blush. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Probably. She thought again and winced. Of course she did, and she had put herself in the position of confessing it all to this man, of all people. She sighed and braced herself. Better to have it out there, especially if… but she stopped that thought dead before it could form.

“And you’ll tell me if I’m right or not?” Sebastian clarified, completely unaware of her mental battle.

“Oh, more than that,” Hawke laughed again, surprised at how… pleasant she felt, sitting on a cold rock on a gloomy day on the Coast about to admit exactly how far she had gone to stay out of a demon's control. “I’ll give you as many details as you desire, if you’re right,” she flashed him a daring look, and then shifted her attention to the rocks on the horizon again. “Go ahead, ‘I’ve never been a prude’ Vael.”

He chuckled, “All right, then, Marian, you asked for it. You‘ve…” she could feel his eyes upon her, and his hesitation at asking, “had an orgasm, fully clothed, and in public?”

“Yes,” Hawke answered readily. “How many details do you want?”

“All of them,” Sebastian admitted. “Do tell, Marian.”

“I was fifteen, nearly sixteen, and we had a stubborn mule that needed my father’s full attention,” Marian giggled. “My friend was just seventeen. He was a frequent accessory, in my little explorations. Willing, I assure you, and not interested in permanence. We were riding in the back of the wagon while my father drove, and he cupped me through my clothes, and I him, and at the end of the trip we were both glad that we were wearing long tunics. Maker, I was so _stupid_ as a teenager. Nothing about that situation was arousing, and yet we did it anyway. How embarrassing.” She wasn’t blushing yet, but Sebastian was. “Are you finished already, Brother Sebastian?”

“Not in the least,” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Hmm, you‘ve… had sex outdoors?”

“Many times,” Hawke looked unimpressed. “There’s a few too many instances of that to give full details. But there was a good spot behind the Chantry in Lothering, and I often took advantage of it. That was more interesting than services.  The Mother in Lothering was as sour as a pickle, though some of the sisters weren't so bad.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian smiled, “So have I, for the record, also behind a Chantry. Though perhaps, in my case, that is not so surprising.” He thought quickly. “You’ve had sex since you came to Kirkwall?”

Hawke took a deep breath. She didn’t want to answer this question, “Yes,” she admitted.

“Hmmm,” Sebastian looked at her. “Isabela? It wasn‘t Anders. I‘m sure of that. Anders wouldn‘t have kept his mouth shut. He would have gloated. He probably would have moved in, adopted a cat and kicked your dog out of the bedroom. And despite the frequency of our visits, I don‘t think you were a patron of the Blooming Rose.  There was nothing like that between you and any of the women or men there.”

Hawke glanced at him. He wasn’t shocked, or angry. “Yes. How did you know?”

Sebastian huffed, “I was a Brother, not blind,” he said. “Isabela watched you for a while after I suspected it happened, and then she… moved on. We were not involved, you were not bound as I felt I was, and she was constantly offering. I do not blame you for accepting.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said stiffly. “It was a one time thing. I was extremely lonely and needy at the time. Also rather drunk.”

Sebastian‘s face fell, “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you regret it?”

“Not exactly,” Hawke temporized. “Isabela is a very clever lover, but I…” she sighed, “I had already noticed you, and I was… using her. I had never before… felt like I was taking advantage of someone, and after that, I swore never to flirt with a… friend again,” she looked down guiltily. “Except for you,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to, exactly, but it just kept slipping out. She claims there are no hard feelings, but I still feel… it‘s a little difficult to put this into words.  I made a mistake.”

“I’m not upset,” Sebastian repeated and sighed, “Do you want to stop or keep going? I don't want to make you uncomfortable.  If it would help I could admit a few things of my own?”

Hawke looked at him closely, and asked what she most wanted to know, “Did you ever sleep with Flora Harimann?”

“Maker’s Breath, no,” Sebastian snickered, “She was practically under lock and key, even if I had been inclined. Her parents intended her for better than a youngest son, prince or no, I assure you.”

“Good,” Hawke regained herself.

“You’re jealous,” Sebastian started to smile, a trifle wickedly.

“I am not,” She protested.

“You are!” Sebastian laughed in delight. “I thought Kirkwallers didn’t get jealous.”

“I’m not from Kirkwall,“ Hawke defended stiffly, “And her mother insisted that she wanted her to marry your cousin. I thought, after I heard you were successful at regaining your throne, that the woman herself might approach you…”

“She never did,” Sebastian assured her softly. “After she left Kirkwall she became a philanthropist. She remains unmarried. We do correspond, occasionally. She‘s one of the few people left that remembers my family… before. We are friends, nothing more.  She helped me regain Starkhaven, and I have done my best to move towards forgiveness.  It was difficult, but she was not responsible for her mother's actions.”

“Good,” Hawke repeated, letting herself look at him again. “I’m glad. Both that you had someone who remembered your family and that she… found a meaningful life.”

“So… keep going?” Sebastian offered after a short silence.

“If you like,” Hawke braced herself again, feeling better after the last question.  It couldn't get any worse, after all, not after she had admitted to sleeping with Isabela.

“You've been with more than one person at once?” This question was charged.

“No,” Hawke said at last, after thinking a bit. “Though I have been in situations where a third person was in the room. I do not remember those fondly. After the last time I decided I didn’t like being the center of attention in that way - objectified by someone who wasn’t a participant.  It felt like being... bait for a Desire demon.  How many details do you want?”

“None,” Sebastian admitted. “As it wasn’t a pleasant experience for you. I have, if you didn’t infer as much from our previous discussion.”

“As long as you don’t expect anything like that now, I think we will be okay,” Hawke said firmly.

“Never,” Sebastian took her hand and held it. “If we take... whatever this is that far, I would prefer you to be the last person I ever sleep with.”

“Oh,” Hawke looked at him in shock. “That’s…”

“Chastity, in the purest meaning of the word, at least as you defined it for me,” Sebastian reminded her. “I already know I will not marry otherwise. I have an heir, things are settled that way."

“That’s rather sudden,” Hawke breathed. “Isn’t it?” She winced at her choice of words, remembering how she turned him down so many years before, but this time he didn’t turn away. Was it the different tone of voice?

“I don’t think so,” the Prince was back again, all serious looks and the demeanor of a ruler. “It’s been years, Marian, since I asked you the first time. I think I know my mind.”

“People change,” Marian started.

“I have done my changing. I have been foresworn too many times. I will not break my word again. You will either marry me or not. My future is the same again, either way. Only one way, I will have you, in all the ways I could have had, if I had been wise enough to offer all of myself in exchange, not demand all of you.  If for some reason you do accept my proposals… once you die, I will be celibate again. It’s you or no one, Marian.” He caught her eyes and held them.

Marian tried to break free of the sober moment building around them, shrugging, “Well, you could die first.  You are older.”

Sebastian sat back, stunned. “Does that mean…” and Hawke realized what she had said.

“I…” she started, and then broke off, looking away. “Damn it, Vael,” she muttered. “You make me so weak.”

“You could never be weak,” he managed, breathing a little quickly. “Marian…”

“We should get back,” Hawke tried not to panic. “It’s going to rain and…”

“Let’s get caught in the rain,” Sebastian begged softly and turned her face gently to look at her again. “We’re still playing our game. You've never kissed anyone in the rain?” The innocent question intimidated her in a way that the more weighted questions had not.

Hawke stared at him, his eyes for once not the same blue as the water just beyond them, due to the cloudy sky. A small patter of rain started to fall around them, leaving little blotches on the rocks and spotting their armor, rivulets running down it randomly. Sebastian’s fox-colored hair started to look damp and darker as her eyes darted everywhere in panic, and then he ran his hand through it to slide it back further out of his face, making it drip and spike along the edges.  She followed his hand with her eyes, the movement helping to focus her, and then looked at him again.  “No,” Hawke replied honestly, trying to remember how to breathe. “Fereldans mostly have the sense to come in out of the rain to do their kissing.  Snow, yes, rain, no.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Neither have I,” he admitted, and the clouds opened as it began to pour in earnest. He reached out a hand and pushed her own hair back behind her ear, assisted by the damp. The smell of rain and sea water and damp sand rose around them and they leaned into each other, foreheads touching. “Just a kiss?”

“Just a kiss,” Hawke agreed, a little relieved, even while she admitted to herself they were going to have to cross that hurdle eventually. She kissed him first, leaning in further to reach his lips. She could taste him and the rain water, cool and pure, while she closed her eyes against the sheets of water now running down her face. This kiss was slower, not teasing like the night before. He met her when she wordlessly requested, yielded when she pressed, letting her take the lead, even when she threaded her fingers up underneath his ever wetter hair to scrape his scalp with her nails.

His breath hitched, and he reached his hand up to trace her neck and cheek and move closer to her, until their armor clanked together - that damn throat guard - and Hawke broke away with a laugh and an exclamation involving Andraste’s nipple rings. “The food!” She grabbed the basket and looked uphill. “There has to be a cave around here somewhere! Come on!” She grabbed Sebastian’s hand - the first time she had taken that step first, and all too aware of it. “Come on, Sebastian!”

“I like it here,” Sebastian muttered, but followed her again, as he had for so many years, uphill towards the nearly certain caves. “Marian, won’t we have to deal with spiders?  And slavers, and…” The rocks were slippery now and they struggled to climb them, scrambling over them randomly to reach the wider sandy road above.

“Spiders don’t like the rain,” Hawke spun back to look at him, her normally pale face flushed with exercise. “Would you rather admit to Varric that the Wounded Coast finally defeated us, Sebastian? Defeated by a little rain and the possibility of attack, forced to forfeit this lovely basket that Varric’s cook provided, and explain like guilty children why we are soaking wet in metal armor? If we find a cave, we can build a fire, and try to dry out and…” she was flashing him a coy glance. She spotted what might have been a cave and hauled him further uphill. “Come on!”

“Very well, Champion,” he said softly, and followed, more than willingly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter up tomorrow. I'm still sick, so lots of time on my hands.


	17. On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW, in places. Nothing explicit, yet... there's quite a few chapters before anything happens. NOTE THE RATING CHANGE and additional tag. I'll give fair warning, obviously, and I'm trying to see if I can arrange it so that those who want to skip it can just skip the whole chapter.

They reached the cave - hardly more than a large overhang, but dry, with a convenient fire ring already laid out, and a shrub in the corner that Hawke immediately started breaking off to use for fuel. She incinerated the green wood with a gesture, and it lit up a little too willingly, leaving a glare for Sebastian to blink away in favor of a merrily crackling fire. “Magic is convenient, isn’t it,” he managed.

“Mostly,” grinned Hawke. “Except for the demons. Everything has a price,” she shrugged. “I have the ability to conjure fire, but have to deal with demons masquerading as you in my dreams. If you have that problem, I bet you don’t have to worry about what happens if you give in.”

Sebastian blinked again, sitting down, and watched her remove her armor piece by piece to put it in front of the fire, down to her mail shirt and breeches. Her breasts curved underneath the fine links of the metal and he had to force himself to look away, because her undershirt was soaked through to the breastband. “You’ve been dreaming - about _me_?”

“A couple of times recently,” she offered, flashing him a grin. “Not a problem. It wasn’t really you. I don’t think demons see colors the same way we do,” she admitted. “You can usually catch them out in any case.”

“Catch them out?” Sebastian met her eyes, surprised. “You spend your nights catching demons out because they can‘t copy colors?”

Hawke scoffed, “Not every night, and usually only Desire manages to be that devious. Fear is very obvious, Despair is just… sad and numb, and Rage is best just to wake up from if you can‘t calm the fuck down,” she tried to explain, knowing that she was blowing it. How do you explain a sixth sense to someone that has never had it? “But Desire knows that making a person think that they are getting what they want in their waking hours is the most important component to success.” She smiled at him again, roguishly. “There is nothing funny about Desire,” but she laughed all the same, wagging her head with a mock scolding. “You should realize that, Sebastian, given that you’ve met one.”

“Does that mean I’m what you want in your waking hours?” Sebastian countered, trying to breathe normally.

“Maybe,” Hawke temporized, tilting her head at him from across the fire. “And maybe it’s just what Desire thinks I want. Haven’t you ever had a completely ridiculous sex dream about a person that you are not attracted to in any way?“ She sighed, “Are you going to sit in that wet armor all afternoon to preserve my modesty, Brother Sebastian? There‘s no need. I was thinking about stripping down and trying to get this undershirt dry, too, but I don‘t have anything better to hang it on than myself. The throat guard on my armor funnels rainwater straight down.”

Sebastian laughed, “I suppose not.” He stood up and started unfastening armor briskly, stacking it regularly by the fire that Hawke was still feeding twigs - burning rather large for such meager fuel. He stripped right down to his breeches, holding his damp tunic out to dry. “Maker, it’s cold,” he shuddered slightly.

Hawke added another twig to make the fire leap around her joyfully, and bent to search through the basket she had rescued to find the blanket that the Cook had included for ground cover. “Got it!” She shifted the food around and pulled it free, shaking it afterward to free it from crumbs. She looked across the fire, clutching the blanket to her. “You know, I could hold this for ransom,” she teased, letting her eyes drift down to the happy trail that she really hadn‘t expected him to have. “You’re still pretty, even covered with goosebumps.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, in pretend offense. “Are you ogling again?”

“Oh yes,” Hawke agreed. “What are you going to do about it, Prince Vael?” She shifted into a defensive stance, back on her heels, as if she was going to go for her staff, but kept a smirk on her face at the same time.

“Nothing,” the Prince smiled irritatingly. “You might as well enjoy yourself, since our little excursion is otherwise such a disaster.”

Hawke pouted, “You’re no fun.”

“I have been told that before,” Sebastian laughed. “Usually by Varric.”

“This isn’t a disaster,” Hawke corrected after a moment‘s thought. “A disaster would involve at least three blood mages, two abominations and a corrupt Templar. This is…” she glanced up from the fire and tossed him the blanket. “This is almost fun. I had forgotten that fun could mean something besides fighting a dragon.”

“My thanks,” Sebastian laughed at her admission. “You should try to get a little more dry, though. Surely that would tip the scale towards true recreation?”

“Well, if I dared take off the mail shirt, I could just increase my body temperature.” Hawke admitted. “But I’m afraid I’ll give you a bloody nose,” she teased.

“I’m not a prude, Marian,” Sebastian insisted again. “I won’t even look.”

“Like that makes you less of a prude,” Hawke giggled.

“Do you want me to look? I could look,” Sebastian offered earnestly. “It’s pretty hard to keep averting my eyes, when all I want to do is stare…” his words trailed off and he did stare then, finishing almost meekly, “and… I don’t want you to get sick because of me.”

Hawke didn’t answer, just abandoned the silly argument and stripped out of her mail shirt easily, draping it over her breastplate. Her shirt started to steam slightly almost immediately, but she held Sebastian’s eyes as he breathed a little bit harder. “I have to take off the mail first, so that it doesn’t burn me,” she explained awkwardly. “This trick came in handy in the Anderfels, but I had to learn to remove the mail shirt the hard way. Luckily I had a few health potions for the burns. Ruined my best underarmor, though. Had little holes through it, after that.”

“Some trick,” Sebastian agreed, his eyes dipping down slightly, to her still transparent shirt. “Your talents continue to impress me.” He stood up and made his way across the fire, blanket draped over his shoulders. “I’ll share, if you like?”

Hawke nodded and moved towards him, taking a corner of the blanket for her own, and pulling him down besides her to sit on the ground. “At least it’s rocky here,” she made a face, “instead of sandy.”

“You really hate sand that much?”

“If you had been to the Western Approach, then you would understand,” Hawke protested. “It’s fucking awful there. No redeeming qualities whatsoever.”

“What happened in the Western Approach, other than drinking with the Inquisitor?”

Hawke sighed, “It was a Tuesday.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Blood mages and abominations then?” Hawke smiled at his laugh and dared lean a little closer to him, sharing her body heat. “Everywhere?”

Hawke thought back, “Well, there were endangered varghests, two dragons, which we didn’t fight, because one was tied to Corypheus, who never even showed, bastard that he was, and the other that the Inquisitor insisted was somehow needed to balance the local ecology, a load of ‘Vint blood mages that were summoning abominations to fight besides them, a fuck ton of ruins that the Inquisitor would not _stop_ gushing about, amazing sunsets, really great alcohol… oh, and I entered the Fade physically, which, as I’ve said before, looked _nothing_ like the Maker’s bosom, and emerged, still alive and apparently uncompromised, which was the real shock, if you ask me, but no one did.” She finished the list and took a very deep breath. “As a former representative of the Chantry, I will accept your apology for the Fade being such a massive disappointment, if you like.”

“Definitely a Tuesday,” Sebastian said, dazed. “Physically? I thought that part of the book was exaggerated. Varric does tend to embellish, after all.”

“Nope,” Hawke sighed, “The massive Nightmare demon we saw is still out there in the Fade somewhere. I’m sure Varric’s version differs from actual events, since the Chantry hasn’t banned the title outright, just region by region. I‘m surprised the Divine allowed it, quite honestly.”

“Stroud died,” Sebastian told her. “Is that wrong?”

“Stroud is alive and well and arguing with what is left of his superiors at Weisshaupt!” Hawke assured him. “No, the Warden-Commander stayed in the Fade… I wonder why…”

“A Warden mage in the Fade?” Sebastian swallowed, “I see why Varric had to change that little detail.”

“Oh,” Hawke understood all at once. “Yes, well, that does make sense.” She stiffened. “Are you bothered that I‘ve…”

“No,” Sebastian took a risk and put his arm around her, giving her more of the blanket. “I’m just glad the Inquisitor didn’t think that you could take on a giant Nightmare spider by yourself. I know how good you are with spiders. I‘m surprised she didn‘t.”

“Yes, well, she didn’t listen when I offered,” Hawke said quietly. “I would have stayed. It’s not like I had much to live for. But she told me Thedas needed its heroes, as if she wasn‘t one of them, telling me to get out of there while she - of all the mediocre fighters - tried to distract it.” Hawke laughed, “Don’t tell Varric I told you the truth - but she really sucked. I know he had to change that, because she was bloody awful. He claims she got better, later. I think he‘s lying. Her team had to carry her. Sometimes literally.”

“And has anything… changed, as far as having something to live for?”

Hawke turned her head, making it nearly rest on her shoulder, “It’s trying to.” She leaned towards him, asking without words, and he met her halfway, dipping his jaw to match her lips to his own. She dropped her corner of the blanket to cup his cheek and he used his arm to hold it around her, wanting to keep her inside it with him, whether she needed it or not. She was so warm - the heat of her hand traced down the side of his torso, threatening to tickle his ribs, but instead of laughing he shuddered and pulled her tighter, trying to find an angle that wasn’t quite so awkward so that he could kiss her more thoroughly.

Hawke made an approving noise and moved over his legs letting the blanket fall away from her altogether, and then pulled back. “Do you want some sparks?”

“I think the heat is enough,” Sebastian laughed, reaching his hands up to her neck and pulling her down to his face again, pressing his lips to her warm neck and enjoying the contrast in temperatures.

“Oh, this isn’t the right heat,” Hawke said innocently, “That heat I arrange to come from _you_ , not me. This is just me staying warm.”

“Sweet Andraste, Bride of the Maker,” muttered Sebastian irreverently. “You have no idea how curious you make me, Marian.”

“As long as you aren’t… scared.” Her confidence faltered.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Sebastian laid down and pulled her with him, the blanket a forgotten puddle beneath him. “I know you, Marian.”

“Do you?” Hawke sat back up slightly, looking wary.

“I want to,” Sebastian corrected. “Maker, I want to know everything.” He propped himself up on his elbow and kissed the line of her undershirt, just below her collarbone, and slid his hand underneath it, feeling her slightly too prominent ribs, skinny from her travels. “I don’t want you to be a mystery any longer.”

“Just ask,” she murmured. “I’ll answer anything.”

“I don’t even know my questions,” Sebastian slid his hands further up and bravely ran his thumbs under where her breasts were threatening to fall out of her breastband. “But my first question, I suppose, is… do you want me that way? Do you want to know everything, the good and bad?”

Hawke swallowed, and admitted it, at last, “Yes,” she whispered. “I always have.”

“Good,” Sebastian managed and slid her undershirt over her head, gently. “Because I swear by everything that I find holy, Marian, that I have thought of you every single day since I first met you.” He slid his hand under her breastband to catch her nipple, pointed, despite her inner warmth. “I’ve longed for this, to trace the lines of your body with my hands, to see you react,” she gasped at the simple touch. “I want to hear you say that you wanted the same.”

“I did.” She tried to breathe.

“I’m done waiting then,” Sebastian vowed. “If you want this, and I want this…” He moved the breastband up and away swiftly and latched his lips onto the breast, working it urgently with his tongue. “This is what I wanted in my mouth last night,” he murmured, lips against her skin. “Holy Andraste, your taste…”

“Sebastian,” Hawke whined, “We…” she broke away from his mouth, panting. “We have to talk, if you want… this. You don‘t know…”

“Sex,” Sebastian corrected. “No more euphemisms from me, Marian. I want to make love to you, in the worst way.” He laughed, “Or perhaps the best.”

Hawke groaned and climbed off him, adjusting her breastband again, her breasts a little too heavy to stay within comfortably without unwinding it entirely and starting over. “Damn it, Sebastian, of all the times to start being fucking forward,” she managed a brief laugh. “First of all, yes, I want you, too. Don’t doubt that, but you have never… been with a mage before? It can be… different.”

“No,” he admitted. “And I’m sure it is different - everyone is a little different, mage or not. Besides, it’s been…” he blushed. “I don’t want to say how long,” he muttered. “Maker’s Breath, that’s just embarrassing. I shouldn‘t be embarrassed. So I spent over a decade dedicated to the Maker, that‘s nothing to be ashamed of, whatever Varric says.”

“Are you scared?” She asked again, trying to catch her breath and give herself some space to recover. “Do you feel guilty about wanting to be with me? The Chantry…”

“No,” Sebastian tried to do the same. “Rather excited, if you couldn’t tell. But I don’t want you to be unsure.”

Hawke took a deep breath. “I’m unsure.” Sebastian sat up straight, stunned, and Hawke struggled to put her worry into words. “Aside from the fact that control during sex is really difficult, Sebastian, I’m… really screwed up. You think you want this, but I’m not going to be good for you.” She started to laugh. “Shit, I can’t believe this. You’re actually here, ready to go, and I’m the one stopping… us.”

“I’m a little surprised, too,” Sebastian admitted, turning to face her. “But, Hawke, I don’t want you to… if you have doubts… I… I refuse to be so selfish as to insist, despite...” He had an epiphany, "You're trying to protect me.  Even now."

“I’m bad for everyone,” Hawke said softly. “You’ve seen your men’s reaction to me helping around the city. They think I’m an affront to the Maker, living outside a non-existent Circle.”

Sebastian huffed irritably, “Is that what has you worried? I brought these men specifically because they were the ones who egged me on to conquest,” he explained. “They had the most to atone for. Hawke, my city is conservative, but we have our fair share of mages displaced in the rebellion now. They are living open lives, practicing their skills, and no one is stopping them. There’s no one left to try - our Circle burned, long before the rest fell. On the other hand, we had a group of rogue Templars pass through and the moment one of them tried to accost a mage healer who was tending a child’s scrape, the people fell upon them and called for the Starkhaven guard! I assure you, your being a mage in Starkhaven is not the barrier it might once have been.”

“Every person I've ever been with, except for Isabela, wanted to keep it a secret," Hawke said bluntly.  "Is the Chantry even marrying known mages, then?” Hawke searched his face carefully and saw when he realized what she was asking.

“They do and will, by order of the Divine, hadn‘t you heard?” he smiled tentatively. “Does that mean…”

Hawke looked down at her lap, wanting to believe, but... “I… will think about it,” she replied. “Squirt will be here soon, and Varric may think he wants me around, but I know better. He and Cassandra will be very busy, and I’ll be in the way. And I attract trouble he won‘t need. Besides, he needs the freedom to move on from being just the dwarf who was my friend when I most needed one.”

Sebastian took her hand, “I was not there for you before when you needed a home,” he began, “but I would like to be, now.”

Hawke looked at him, amused, “I have a house here. If you take your men back to Starkhaven, I’ll have a place to stay that won’t be on top of the Tethras-Pentaghasts.” She made a face, “That is a terrible name. They should shorten it. Penthras? Tethraghast? There has to be a better option.”

He chuckled, “There must be.” He lifted her chin, “Do you want me to go, then? Because I don’t want to leave.”

Hawke shook her head, “No, I don’t want you to go. But except for the Chantry, the town is nearly functional again. It’s certainly cleaner than I’ve ever seen it. You… you’ve done your work well, Prince Vael.”

“Except for the most important job I was given,” and he leaned back in towards Hawke. “That of winning the Champion.”

“You won me long ago, Sebastian. I’ve been yours since before the Arishok made his move.” The honesty brought tears to her eyes. “You broke my heart, even if I didn't want to admit it, you did everything you could to make me stop and I’m still…”

“I don’t want to leave,” Sebastian argued breathlessly. “How can I leave, knowing…”

“Let me go,” Hawke clenched her teeth, “And if I come back…”

“You already came back,” Sebastian contradicted angrily. “You came back and I came back and now we’re together, whether you want it or not, and… damn it, Marian, I’m not giving this up, whatever barriers you keep throwing in our way.” He looked almost fierce, and she wanted to giggle but for the serious look in his eyes, just on the edge of pain. “I don’t want to be that selfish man anymore, but I need you!” They stared at each other for a few minutes that stretched into eternity and Sebastian crumpled. “I knew it was too good to be true. That you could actually… care about me.”

“It’s not,” Hawke said softly. “Ask me another question, Sebastian. I think you know which one to ask.”

Sebastian looked at her, face tight, all prince in that moment, “And what question is that?” he demanded roughly, his voice hoarse.

“Ask me if I’ve ever told a partner that I love them.” Hawke moved over and touched him tentatively. “Ask me, Sebastian.”

“Have you…” he couldn’t finish.

“No,” she said softly, choosing mercy. “Now ask the next.”

“Do you love me?” Sebastian asked it, barely audibly.

Hawke reached out her other hand for his, and threaded her fingers through his, her palm to the back of his hand. “Yes.”

“Will you say it?”

“Will you?” They stared at each other again, their pride and all the years of arguments and poor decisions piled up between them, in bigger heaps than all the rubble left in Kirkwall. Hawke opened her mouth and he shoved himself up to meet her lips instead, stopping the words entirely. “Sebastian, I was going to say…”

“Don’t…” he told her. “I do too, but I don’t want it to be the result of a foolish game.”

“You do?” Hawke caught a sudden sob. “Really?”

“So much,” Sebastian murmured against her. “Years of longing, watching you with other people, praying to the Maker for a way to have you, years of resentment that was just love twisted backwards, and then he granted my prayer and released me, the cost a price that I never wanted to pay and…” He stopped and pushed both his hands up and under her short hair, completely dry now, and kissed the words into her mouth instead, catching her lower lip between both of his, but moving slowly, slowly, as if he were still afraid she was going to push him away. “Just tell me to shut it, Marian,” he laughed into her at last.

“No,” she teased, “that’s not the point of just a kiss. Still just a kiss, right? We aren’t going to actually… do anything in the rain on the Storm Coast, where raiders could come up and watch us at any minute?” She focused on his eyes, panting and then surrendered, closing them and cupped his head in turn to kiss him back, not wanting to wait any longer, either. “Forget I said that.  This works.”  She lunged at him and kissed away the ache in her heart, suddenly buoyant and joyful.

“Too late, ducks! And may I say, that this is quite the treat!” Sebastian jerked away and Hawke bowed her head against his shoulder at the familiar voice, chuckling slightly. “Brother Sebastian,” Isabela whistled, letting her eyes wander. “What a body that armor hid. I knew it would. I have to admit, my imagination didn‘t do you justice. I know what I'll be thinking about in my lonely bed tonight.  Hawke,” she greeted her friend. “When did you get back?”

“’Bela,” Hawke gave up and reached for her shirt. “A while ago. You?”  She struggled her way into the still slightly damp fabric, and Sebastian sighed with resignation.

“Don’t bother on my account! I was going to ask if I could…”

“Absolutely not,” Hawke shut her down. “We… were just going to head back to the city. Once we… dried off.”

“On each other?” Isabela stretched out her long legs, completely unconcerned by their mutual states of undress. “Is there food in that basket? Were you two having a _picnic_?” she nearly squealed, “Mercy, love is in the air in Kirkwall! First Varric and the Seeker that Sought Him, and then Ser Cullen the Templar Tight-Ass, married to the best pair of tits and ass I have ever seen - no offense, Hawke…”

“None taken,” Hawke replied, amused. “I agree - no offense. Not much to look at otherwise, but damn, the Inquisitor is stacked.”  Sebastian shook his head, chuckling.

“I knew you would,” Isabela mused, still staring at Sebastian, whose shirt wasn’t dry enough to put back on, biting her lip and openly eyeing him, while he blushed slightly more tan. “I take it he knows that we…”

“Yes,” Hawke smiled at Sebastian who grinned back, despite himself. “We’ve had that discussion.”

“He took it well?”

“Very,” Sebastian assured her. “I have my own past, and pasts should stay where they belong, don’t you think?”

Isabela hummed, “Sure, why not? Unless it has a chance to become the present. Pass something out of that basket, will you?”

Hawke sighed and passed over a box. “Still a moocher, eh, Isabela?”

“Course,” she grinned, white teeth against brown skin. “I was just here checking a stash I placed a few months ago, and got caught in the rain. I miss traveling with a mage,” she sighed, “Makes it so easy to get dry, when you have fire at your fingertips. I should ask Kitten if she wants to travel. Poor thing never gets out anymore.” She tossed a chicken bone into the fire. “Pass the wine?  Or did you bring whiskey?”

Hawke winced, “We didn’t bring any alcohol, ‘Bela.”

“WHAT?!” The pirate stared at her and stared to laugh. “Oh no, really? You finally gave up the sauce? I owe Fenris fifty sovereigns, if you gave up the sauce. He always said eventually you’d mature and realize that you did better work off of it then with. Like he can talk, but still, there goes that stash.” She shook her head, nearly choking.

Sebastian rooted in the basket and held out a bottle to the pirate. “Lemonade?”

The offer only made the pirate laugh harder, but she took the lemonade and toasted them both with it. “Good luck, ducks. Maker knows you’re going to need it.”


	18. Hard in Hightown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight! Mentions of blood after injury, and sweet, sweet revenge. :D And yes, now that I've finished this story, I have no self control.
> 
> And, of course, the Chapter title is the property of Bioware, usual disclaimers implied. I just couldn't resist using it at least once in this fic, and this is definitely the best opportunity.

They got back to town - abandoned after the rain ended by the pirate, who claimed that she wasn’t on Aveline’s good side at the moment - and made their way back to the Keep in nearly full darkness. Sebastian was still slightly damp, but laughing, both in embarrassment at being caught in a compromising position and in good humor, despite everything Isabela had attempted to wheedle out of them regarding their relationship.

They wound their way through the darkness, holding hands like children and stopping to kiss every so often in random places, Sebastian making sure they were under a torch or lamp every single time, so to provide the maximum amount of gossip for the nosy citizens of Kirkwall, and Hawke attempting to slide her fingers beneath his extremely well fitted armor, teasing him openly, and even stealing his new belt at one moment with fingers far too dexterous for a mage, making him chase her down to ransom it with another kiss, while she buckled it back on him slowly, letting her fingers drift lower than strictly necessary for the situation.

“Marian,” he warned her, panting by the time she finished, “careful what you start.”

“Maybe I want to start something,” Hawke replied, and bent in to touch her lips to his neck. “Don’t you want to start something?” The kiss he gave her in answer certainly insinuated that he did.

“Hawke,” he said more sternly a moment later as she drifted towards his neck.

“Fine,” she backed off immediately, more than a little irritated. “I thought…”

“No,” he said, staring beyond her, “Look…” he slung down his bow, and drew two arrows.

Short shadows were moving beyond them, and Hawke paled in the dim light, “The Carta,” she murmured urgently. “They’ve finally come for Varric. We have to get to the Keep…”

“We’ll never make it,” Sebastian muttered. “We’d have to cross half of Hightown undetected, and they’re everywhere. Perhaps if I were alone, I could manage, but…”

“Then you go,” Hawke slung down her staff. “Warn Aveline, Sebastian. I cannot… I will not let that bitch hurt him again. Especially not now.”

“I won’t leave you,” Sebastian told her bluntly.

“Please, Sebastian,” she begged, still quietly. “Aveline needs to know, and Cassandra can’t fight, not now, not with Squirt! Please… tell them?” She searched his face, and turned away. “I’ll delay them,” she assured him. “They won’t make it past the Chantry square, I swear it.”

“Don’t you dare get hurt,” Sebastian gave in and kissed her briefly. “I will return as quickly as I can.”

Hawke nodded. “Go,” she ordered, and then swung her staff wide. “Dodge or stay under cover,” she instructed him. “My firestorms are a bit larger than they used to be.” And she pulled on the Fade itself and dissolved it into flames.

Fire rained down in sheets, filling the entire courtyard. Carta dwarves stumbled and fled at the sudden attack as Hawke paced and flanked for a better view, aiming for the ruins of the Chantry stairs before she shoved them backwards, once, twice, and then electrocuted them all, minutes flashing by without notice as she concentrated on delaying them as much as possible. As the final flash lit up, she saw a lone human in familiar armor standing in the background, slinging arrows as fast as he could nock and aim, driving the attackers back from the path to the Keep. She cursed. “Dammit, Sebastian! You had one job!”

“I came back!” He laughed at her irritation. “Aveline is rousing the guard!” The alarms rang at that moment, and the guard fell in, dodging the fire that was still raining down through the courtyard. “Varric was right, this is beautiful! You are beautiful!” He yelled at her, over the noise of the battle, “All lit up by flame and crowned with smoke!”

Hawke laughed, incredibly happy at the over the top compliments combined with the good news. “Where’s Varric?” She didn’t dare look for him, now having to concentrate on hitting the enemy and not the guards.

“Hunkered down with Cassandra!” Sebastian strafed back to her position and pecked her cheek, performing a trick shot at the same time, just to show off, she was sure. The arrow found its target and another Carta dwarf cursed impotently and fell. “Who is demanding a shield, because she will not let that ‘bitch of a Smith’ take her man anywhere he does not want to go.”

“She can’t!”

“She’s the only one who doesn’t realize that,” Sebastian grinned, and whooped a war cry that was echoed with more reinforcements as his men streamed out of the shadows from the direction of Hawke’s home. “Aveline gave me permission to arm my men,” he explained. “Maker take you!” He cried into the night, Hawke thrilling to the sound of the familiar prayer, and two more Carta fell in quick succession. “I would have been faster, otherwise. I hope I didn‘t inconvenience you?”

Hawke failed to answer while she scanned the shadows of the homes for a specific person, hoping she would recognize her. “There!” Hawke pointed at an obviously female dwarf attempting to sneak away through the darkness, even while her people continued to throw themselves at the defending Guards. “That’s her, I would swear it! Bianca!” She marched down the steps and flared a barrier around her body. “We need to talk,” she demanded, and laid a glyph of paralysis at the dwarf’s feet that managed to lock her in place.

The woman cursed, trying to tug herself free. “You must be Hawke. What a pleasure to meet you at last.” The sarcasm dripped from her lips.

“I sincerely wish I could say the same,” Hawke smiled menacingly, “I am also the Champion of this city that you dared accost. And I am the best friend of Viscount Tethras, and you are the woman who is trying to ruin his life for the second time, at least. But, then, who‘s counting? I’ve probably ruined his life at least once,” She feigned thinking, for just a moment, and then continued, cold and brittle, “Still, I have a lot to talk to you about, and I’m tempted to get some answers with the fire of my bones.” She rained down fire around them again, just managing to keep it clear of the dwarf who was still stuck and flinching.

“Hawke, stop it!” Aveline reached her, but was held outside the circle of flames. “She’s wanted by the Guard! Let me take it from here!”

“If I do that she’ll disappear, Aveline!” Hawke protested, “She deserves to die for what she’s done to Varric, and to Thedas! Do you know what she did?!”

“STAND DOWN,” Aveline ordered her, and Hawke looked at her, surprised. “I am the Captain of the Guard and you are the Champion,” Aveline continued in a more reasonable tone. “I will take this from here, in a lawful fashion. Let her be tried, Hawke! Varric has a plan for this! Trust us! You‘ve done your job!”

Hawke let the flames die down, but reinforced the paralysis. “I trust Varric,” she stated, “and you, Aveline. Put please, don’t let her escape. She must _pay_.” She held the woman’s eyes firmly, refusing to blink, the flames that had recently ceased to fall still flickering in her pupils. Bianca pulled her eyes away first.

“I swear I will not,” Aveline promised, and knelt to bind the dwarf’s hands herself, removing three throwing knives, a crossbow, another two daggers, and a long handled knife from her afterward. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Smith Davri.”

“I’m not here for Varric,” sneered the smaller woman. “I’m here for his whore.”

Hawke sputtered. “Aren’t you _married_? You know, Aveline,” she turned to the Guard Captain facetiously, “In my heyday, vows were taken quite a bit more seriously,” she winked at Sebastian who chuckled to himself. “It hasn’t been that long, has it? I’m pretty sure that Cassandra is more devoted to Varric, and he to her, than you could ever be, or ever were. Besides, the real whores I‘ve met have been very kind, considerate people, with the exception of the blood mage… and even she found Andraste, in the end.” Hawke viewed her with some amusement. “It’s possible that you should become acquainted with the Prophet yourself. It might improve your attitude.” Sebastian chuckled again.

“I don’t think you’re going to convert her, Hawke,” he finally managed a word. “I appreciate the attempt, however.”

“She‘s pregnant, and it’s not his. Can’t be. It doesn‘t happen, not that easily,” the dwarf spat at Hawke as she was hauled to her feet by Aveline, landing short of the Champion by some distance. 

“Don’t you dare defile her,” Sebastian growled at the dwarf’s action, his accent getting far thicker in his anger. “You will not touch her.” Hawke’s gaze landed on him, surprised by his sudden defense, and he shut his mouth, determined and unembarrassed.

“Squirt’s mine, I assure you,” Varric folded his arms as he stepped into the circle of light, “And I will have you punished for lifting a hand towards all of them, my Seeker, my child, my friend and...” he glared for a moment at Sebastian and broke it off. “Well, you could have him,” he muttered without conviction.

“By the Stone, Varric,” Bianca cursed, “You were supposed to come after _me_. The Carta weren’t supposed to be the aggressors this time! We just sat and waited for the Guild to attack…”

“Tough Titties,” Varric narrowed his eyes. “So sorry that I ruined your plans to make the Guild the bad guys. IN any case, Kirkwall is now a Carta-free city, thanks to the efforts of my Guard Captain and Seeker Pentaghast,” he said slowly and deliberately. “You are in violation of… how many laws, Aveline? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-seven,” the Guard Captain shot back, a huge smile on her face. “Plus a few minor infractions I‘m not inclined to let slide, even if the Viscount is feeling merciful.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that I am capable of trying her impartially,” Varric grinned in rakish delight, rocking on his heels, “given our past association. What do you think, Cass?”

“I would say not,” Cassandra replied reluctantly. “As much as I would prefer her head on a pike outside the gates, the thought makes me a little light-headed. Pregnancy, you know. It has made me squeamish. Also she has insulted my honor, insinuating that I would play you false. I think she needs stronger measures. Death is too good for her.” The Seeker’s glare made even the brazen dwarf woman flinch.

“We wouldn’t want to make you or Squirt queasy,” Varric laughed easily. “Take her away, Aveline. We’ll send her to the Gallows for the Inquisition to handle in the morning. Double guard, and only your best, Aveline, got it? Nice long stay in the Gallows, while we wait for somebody that can try her… I‘m sure Asta would love to get her hands back on you… but she won‘t be through here for months. Not sure we can wait that long. I‘ll write to Josie in the morning and see what she suggests.”

“Donnic and I will handle it personally,” Aveline beamed, triumphantly. “It will be our pleasure.”  She started to steer the prisoner in the direction of the Gallows.

“Oh! And check her knickers for a blowpipe, and take her jewelry,” Varric called after her. “Because she had a nasty habit of keeping one down there for emergencies and wearing rings with special effects. We wouldn’t want either of you to lose consciousness!”

“Thanks for the tip,” Aveline called back, still smiling as Donnic joined her. “We did it, love,” she whispered at him, barely audible. “We caught her.”

“You are amazing,” he told her, and took the woman’s other arm. “Allow me?” They led the woman away, staring more at each other than the criminal they were escorting, in mutual admiration.

Hawke took a deep breath. “Well, that was bracing! It’s been a while since I had to fight the Carta at night in Hightown! What a nice change of pace.”

“Quite,” Cassandra said dully. “A shame I couldn’t actually do anything.”

“Soon, babe,” Varric told her. “It can’t last much longer, right?”

“It feels like forever,” she said, miserably. “I’m going back to bed.” She stalked in the direction of the Keep. “Thank you, Champion.”

“Thanks, Hawke,” Varric glanced back, obviously wanting to follow her. “Thanks, Choir Boy,” he said reluctantly. “I… owe you, I guess. Sorry about… well… no, I‘m not really sorry.”

“Not at all,” Sebastian said easily, ignoring the withdrawn apology. “I made haste because Marian… the Champion was alone and would be overwhelmed.” He offered his quiver back to Varric, who shook his head.

“Keep them,” he said. “After this, I think we should all just… admit the inevitable.” He shook his head again, and followed Cassandra back. “Just… get on with it, Hawke!” He yelled, never looking back. “Misery should have an end.”

Hawke turned to Sebastian, visibly amused, “Are you miserable?”

“No,” Sebastian admitted, “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so happy.”

“Well then, mission accomplished,” Hawke laughed deep in her throat and took his hand again, making a huge check mark in the air with her staff that glowed slightly green. “Shall we?”

“Just a moment,” Sebastian hesitated. “My men still have their weapons.”

“Ah,” Hawke looked at them and decided to try trust. “Do you have any intention of wielding the weapons in your hands against this city, its rulers, or me personally?” She asked quietly.

“We do not,” the man called Marcus asserted. “We will vow accordingly.”

“Do so, and then… keep the weapons,” Hawke swayed, feeling a little dizzy herself. It had been a while since she had been in a skirmish of this size. She hadn’t used that much mana, though, had she?

“Marian, are you all right?” Sebastian noticed the movement, and drew closer. “Oh, you’ve been hit,” he stared at the gap in her armor from where her hip met her leather jerkin, surprised. A single bolt rested there, lodged an inch deep. “Let’s get you back to the Keep,” he murmured, and supported her.

“It’s not that bad, Sebastian,” Hawke muttered, embarrassed, wincing as the adrenaline left her system. "A single potion and I’ll be right as rain.”

“What happened to your barrier?”

“I forgot to cast Barrier until right at the end. I‘m a little out of practice - I‘ve been running instead of picking fights since I left Weisshaupt. Traveling alone makes even me cautious.” She tried to shrug it off.

“Forgive me if I dislike having the woman I love injured,” Sebastian replied bitterly. “You were supposed to be careful.”

“That doesn’t count,” Hawke told him firmly, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Yes, well, we’re both working up to it, aren’t we? You know, I could just carry you.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Hawke said from between clenched teeth as she limped along. “I have a reputation to maintain, and can you imagine Varric’s comments about you sweeping me off my feet because of one bloody bolt wound that wasn‘t anywhere near killing me? He already thinks you’ll kidnap me and take me back to your palace. He probably has half the damn novel written by now. You‘ll feed his lurid imagination.”

“I couldn’t give a tinker’s damn about your reputation or Varric‘s imagination. As for the rest… would that work?” Sebastian asked, a bit seriously. “I could play the evil Prince if it would work.”

“You don’t have to play the evil Prince,” Hawke gasped with pain as she tried to move her leg to ascend the stairs. “Maker, that’s sore,” she muttered.

“That’s that then,” Sebastian bent down and lifted her. “This is faster,” he stopped her protests before they began. “More practical too, unless you want to wait for healers and a cot.”

“I…” Hawke blushed. “You realize he’s never going to let up on Prince Charming after this?” She drawled, trying to hide her reaction.

“Better charming than evil?” Sebastian shook his head. “He’s more creative than that.”

“Daisy. Broody. Blondie. Sparkler. Iron Lady. Hero. Rivaini. Buttercup. Kid. Seeker. Squirt…” Hawke started listing.

“Choir Boy,” Sebastian laughed and apologized when the movement jostled her. “He does specialize in the obvious. I take it back. Who are the other half of those people?”

“Inquisition,” Hawke explained, wincing again. “Long, long story. He didn’t use the nicknames in the book, then?”

“I’m afraid not,” Sebastian frowned. “I’ve missed out, I could have been with you all along… I have practically no idea of what you‘ve been doing all these years.”

“Wouldn’t have happened,” Hawke sighed. “Wouldn’t have let you come, even if you weren‘t Prince of a city that needed you, and definitely not to fix my mistakes. But we’re here now,” she made a point of mentioning.

“We are,” Sebastian swore, shaking off his melancholy and stepping into the Keep and pandemonium, Guards everywhere holding prisoners and making plans. He dodged them easily and made his way up the stairs to the private doors, opening them with one hand. “She needs a healer,” he told the housekeeper gently as she came out to greet them. “Bolt to the hip, probably in the bone.”

“I’ll fetch the Guard’s surgeon,” the woman said, staring at him in awe and a little respect. “The Viscount didn’t notice she was injured?”

Sebastian shook his head. “She didn’t realize it herself. I’ll just take her to her room, shall I?”

“Good enough,” the woman said briskly, and bustled out the door, calling for the healer as he made his way up the main stairs.

Sebastian settled Hawke on her bed gingerly, and pulled the armor and clothing away to get a better look, unwrapping the leather buckles across her stomach with almost teasing gentleness.

“And… now you are undressing me, in my bed, and it’s not even fun,” Hawke complained. “We are going about this all wrong.”

“Yes, well, none of that will be happening until you heal,” Sebastian said sternly. “You’ve probably cracked the bone. That’s not the healing of a night, even with a potion.”

“Oh please, I’ve fought dragons after worse injuries,” Hawke contradicted. “It’s one little bolt.”

The archer looked at her seriously. “That one little bolt came within a few inches of several vital organs, Marian.”

“But it didn’t hit any of them!” Hawke protested, and the healer arrived. “A miss is as good as a mile, Sebastian!”

“Of course,” the healer frowned, resigned to the job, “The Champion. Luck ran out, did it? Finally managed to get yourself hit in a place that you couldn’t hide or fix yourself? Haven’t you developed a tolerance for healing potions by now? I should give you a pamphlet on the overuse of elfroot.”

“Yes, well…” Hawke stammered. “Have we met?”

The healer scoffed, “No, but they still tell stories about you. And I’m just an apothecary and surgeon, I’ll have you know. So there’s no fluffy magic going to spare you pain and healing.” She looked at the injury and prodded the skin around it with two fingers. “Yes, this is going to hurt,” she announced and yanked hard.

“HOLY FUCKING MAKER!” Hawke screamed and tried to swing at the surgeon with a fist, but the surgeon dodged easily.

“One more time,” the surgeon stared at Sebastian. “You’d better hold her down, Your Highness. I can‘t do her any good if she breaks my nose first.”

“Gladly,” Sebastian climbed up on the bed, and pinned down her arms and legs, looking scared. “It’s really lodged, is it?”

“I’m afraid I’ll accidentally leave the bolt head in,” the surgeon confirmed. “Any ideas other than cutting it out? Surely you‘ve dealt with these in the past?” Sebastian shook his head.

“I’ve no idea, other than cutting it out,” he whispered, turning pale. “A flesh wound could be pushed through, but one lodged in the bone…”

“Maker,” Hawke blanched at the thought, whimpering softly.

“It’s all right,” Sebastian soothed, and the surgeon started to ease the bolt back and forth, trying to rock it free from the bone, even while she irritated the entrance wound with the movement, the blood seeping and pooling while she tried to blot it away with a pad of cotton. “It’ll be over soon. You can have something for the pain when she’s done.”

“No, I can’t,” Hawke moaned, tears starting to fall, eyes locked with his. “I wish I could.”

“Elfroot potion,” he told her, eyes calm and sympathetic. “You can have one of those.” He kept talking softly. “It will be all right, the pain is temporary. It will be over soon…” The bolt came loose and the surgeon pulled it free, as quickly as possible, and the wound started to bleed in earnest, ragged around the edges.

“It’s out,” she said unnecessarily, examining it carefully. “No nicks on the head, so all is well, no bits left inside to fester. No trace of poison, so I‘d say you got lucky, given some of the messes that the Carta is known to smear on their boltheads.” She smiled at the Champion. “Well done. I’ve had soldiers scream much louder.” Sebastian shifted back to the side of the bed, drooping his head in relief.

“Thanks so much,” Hawke snarled and grabbed the potion she offered out of her hands, drinking it quickly and throwing the bottle into the fireplace as a vent to her emotions.

“So dramatic,” the healer rolled her eyes. “Rest for a few days,” she instructed her, packing up and leaving the room. “Keep the wound covered and clean! Change the bandage often! I’ve got other people to care for with far worse injuries, so you are on your own.  And here,” she tossed her a square of paper on the dangers of excess elfroot usage, "Educate yourself."

“Maker, I hate healers,” Hawke shook her head. “They cause the worst pain and think they do the most good.” She started to shake. “And they are so bloody necessary, which makes it worse, because they’re right. They do the most good. Sweet Andraste, why couldn‘t I have been a healer? A sweet spirit healer who worked with the Maker‘s blessing?”

Sebastian shifted to sit next to her on the bed. “Because then you wouldn’t be yourself,” he answered reasonably.

“Thank you for holding me down, I probably would have broken her nose for her,” Hawke sniffed. “I’m going to lose it now,” she warned him. “I usually do, after a fight. Especially when there‘s been bloodshed that wasn‘t… theirs.”

“What?” Sebastian was surprised. “Since when?”

“Since always,” she admitted. “I hold it together and then… bawl when I’m alone. It’s a stress thing. You should go. I‘ll embarrass you. I embarrassed my own mother. Gamlen thought I was going insane once - well, he was right. No one can claim I’m anything but crazy. Carver freaked the fuck out and left for two days the first time he saw it happen. I fall to pieces.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sebastian replied, and moved up to the pillows, and pulled her over against him, with her injured hip in the air. “Cry if you like,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“Always been like that. Holding it in for Mother and Carver. Ever since Bethany…”

“Please, let me stay,” Sebastian asked, his mouth buried in her hair. “Please, Hawke. Don’t shut me out.”

She relaxed, tears filling her eyes, “You really want to stay?”

“I want to stay,” he murmured. “Let me hold you? I was scared for you, and so angry when she spat at you. I haven‘t been that angry since… for a long time.”

Hawke laughed a sob, “I’ve never heard you sound so… mean.” Her shoulders started to shake, and the tears fall, and her hands clutched at his armor. “Did you really use the word ‘defile’? About _me_?”  She laughed a trifle hysterically.

“Yes, well, it‘s the word that came to mind,” Sebastian admitted. “But that woman… that she would _dare_ …” He breathed heavier. “I wish you hadn’t spared her life.”

“I have to trust that Varric and Aveline can do it right,” Hawke shuddered. “Otherwise, there’s no point. Aveline is the law, and Varric is in charge. They will do it right. Vigilante justice does no good, in the end. Aveline has always been right, except with the Qun. She sucks at the Qun.” She wept openly, wailing for a few minutes, shaking horribly with the aftermath, and remembered mistakes. “Maker, I wish I hadn’t taken her advice on the Qun!” She broke apart for a few minutes, letting herself be held through her body‘s quakes.

Sebastian rubbed her back, slowly, slowly, as the sobs died down. “Yes, well, even Aveline can’t be right all the time,” he reminded her absently, shaken himself. “It’s over now, in any case. Bianca is in custody, and Aveline won’t sleep until she is taken care of.”

“Okay,” Hawke breathed easier. “Maker, I do wish I had killed her,” she said regretfully and more clearly, sitting up and wincing, Sebastian helping her to settle back, but leaving his arm around her. “It would be so much easier if she were just… dead.” She looked at her body, flinching. “We’re filthy,” Hawke made a face. “Help me out of this armor?”

Sebastian looked at her suspiciously.

“No ulterior motives,” Hawke managed a weak grin. “I hurt like… like nothing I can remember, probably because under normal circumstances I would be stumbling drunk right now and still a sobbing mess,” she unbuckled the rest of her breastplate, wincing. “Any sort of bedtime activities are the furthest thing from my mind.“ She stopped, staring at her feet, and legs. “I can’t bend to reach the greaves without pain,” she admitted, embarrassed. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” he smiled and helped her take them off and shift to get the rest. “Anything else? I live to serve.”

“Just put them in the closet?” Hawke suggested, with a self-conscious smile. “And I’m so thirsty,” she said, shyly. “Maybe some water? Please.”

“Of course,” Sebastian smiled and laughed suddenly with a realization, “I think Isabela stole the lunch basket.” He pulled off his own armor and stacked it on the table. “I admit, I wasn’t paying attention. The view was far more attractive in the other direction.”

Hawke chuckled, “I saw her do it. But I didn’t mind. Cook might, but I’ll get her a new basket and blanket. I need to do some shopping anyway.”

“What for?” Sebastian poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

“I need to get something for Squirt. I‘m going to be an aunt,” Hawke leaned back and sipped the water. “Got to get the taste of elfroot out of my mouth. And… I want to visit Lirene’s.”

“The Fereldan Importer?” Sebastian smiled. “What are you going to buy there?”

“Pretty things,” Hawke said firmly. “I haven’t been in a place to have more than a couple frivolous things for some time. I‘ve always hated the dresses that are popular here. All vests and sashes. Hideous. No sense of individuality, and all in pastels with no fur. Yuck. I look terrible in pastels.  The only place I can get a good vibrant red around here is at Lirene‘s.”

“You have never been so beautiful as tonight, with fire raining down around you,” Sebastian murmured into her hair, pulling her closer, trying not to hurt her. “I could be pretty enough for both of us.”

Hawke snorted, “You’re a different sort of pretty. I want to take your breath away, Sebastian Vael.”

“You would do that wearing nothing at all,” he said softly, and then paused, “I didn’t mean it like that… but… it’s true anyway.”

Hawke thought, “You aren’t going to let me do anything until I’m healed?”

“No,” Sebastian said firmly. “Out of the question.”

“Then shopping it is,” Hawke smiled against his chest. “But I’m not letting you leave this room tonight.”

“That’s fine with me,” Sebastian kissed the top of her head. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere unless you kicked me out.”

Hawke paused and muttered, “I’m done kicking you out, Sebastian.”

“Until the next time,” he laughed. “But I’m pleased to hear that all the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because if anyone gets revenge on Bianca for what she's done to Varric, it should be Hawke, not the Inquisitor. Hawke would be triply pissed off at what Bianca did to her friend.


	19. When Nugs Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still SFW.

Sebastian woke first the next morning, moving slowly to not jostle Hawke, as she seemed to be firmly in the Fade, with a small smile on her face. He watched her for a little while, marveling and thanking the Maker that she had allowed him to stay, and then gathered his things as quietly as possible, intending to head to the bath and wash away the dirt that remained from the day before, and bring her the coffee that she seemed to require to function in the morning.

“Going so soon?” Hawke’s eyes had cracked open, and now she was directing an even larger smile at him.

“I thought it best,” Sebastian hesitated, and then made his way over to kiss her good morning. “I know that Varric will have much to say about my presence here and I didn’t want to subject you to…”

Hawke snorted a laugh, “Oh please, Varric always has much to say about my… affairs. Don’t let that stop you. I‘m a big girl.”

“I…” Sebastian sighed, “I was trying to spare you what will likely be an uncomfortable experience.”

Hawke smiled slightly, “That’s fine, but… I can take it. He seems pretty insistent that it’s my life, anyway. You heard him last night. That’s as close to his blessing as either of us are going to get, Vael.” She sat up and stretched, wincing when the action pulled on her hip. “It’s been a while since I was able to appreciate waking up with someone,” she said quietly. “Don’t go quite yet?”

“If that’s what the Champion wishes,” Sebastian agreed, after a moment. “I would like a bath, however. I smell like soot.”

Hawke laughed, a happy trill. “Sorry, hanging out with me after a fight does tend to have that effect.” She reached out, and rubbed a smudge off his cheek. “You’re covered with soot, too. So am I, I’m sure.” She swung her legs to the floor, wincing again. “That does smart. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to forget my barrier.”

“You should be more careful,” Sebastian frowned. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, “I’m not that easy to kill, Sebastian.”

“You’ll be plenty easy to kill if you forget your barrier. Two inches up and to the right and…” Hawke stumbled towards him and stopped his words with a kiss, supporting herself against him. “What was that for?”

“For caring,” she said softly. “It’s been a while since anyone besides Varric cared if I was hurt…”

“I have always cared,” Sebastian promised. “Now, I’ll go get your coffee, and you should rest, while I bathe.”

“I could go with you,” Hawke offered, no teasing in her eyes, just longing.

Sebastian shook his head, “You know that if you do, we would not be getting clean,” he whispered. “Don’t test my resolve, Marian. You have to heal.”

She sighed, resigned, “Very well, but I’m coming down to breakfast, and I refuse to just… sit here and mend. I can’t sit still that long. It makes me itch. I‘m going out today.”

He frowned but nodded. “I’ll see you at breakfast then.” He moved towards her, hesitated again and then kissed her one more time, allowing himself to experience her mouth a little more thoroughly, and then pulling away with a shudder. “Until you are well, I think I shouldn’t make a habit of waking up with you,” he admitted, heart beating fast. “Already I regret…”

“You and me both,” Hawke let him go. “What I really regret is forgetting to cast that barrier.” She watched him go, and then made her way back to the bed, to put her feet up, still wincing and muttering curses at her own stupidity under her breath.

***

Cassandra didn’t show for breakfast, apparently sulking and refusing to leave their room because she wasn’t any use in the fight.

“Varric, what do you two still need for Squirt, anyway?” Hawke asked, shifting in her chair against the pain of her injury, but stubbornly refusing to give in.

“What do we need?” Varric laughed, “As if I know, Hawke? But I can show you what we have,” he bid them follow as they tossed the remains of their food down and followed the dwarf back upstairs, Hawke limping ever so slightly and waving away offers of help irritably.

He opened a room a door down from his own, stacked with crates and furniture. “I’m going to need a hand with this,” he waved his hand. “The presents for Squirt keep arriving, none of it useful that I can tell, and… I have not the slightest idea what I am doing.”

Hawke’s mouth opened as she surveyed the mountain range of what seemed to be random objects before her. “You want me to help build your baby a room?”

“Sort of,” Varric admitted. “I’ve got most of the stuff already, for furniture… that huge crate is a rocking chair from Dagna at Skyhold, and there’s all sorts of… stuff.” He made a generic hand gesture. “You were four when Bethany and Carver came along, you sort of remember, right?”

“Sort of,” Hawke hedged, bewildered and alarmed. “I can try, I suppose. Keep in mind that when the twins were born we were living in a two room shack - and I was sleeping in the loft, moved up from a trundle on the floor. An entire room for a baby is just… extravagant.”

“I have no idea,” Sebastian said bluntly, without being asked. “I was the youngest and I‘m fairly certain the nursery at Starkhaven predates my great-grandfather’s reign. I have a generic idea of what used to be in there, but… I haven‘t had any reason to go to that floor of the palace since I‘ve been back.”

“An entire floor?  For a baby?” Hawke blinked at him in disbelief. “Damn. Is this a Marcher thing? Isn‘t it just easier to have the baby sleep next to you? They wake up a lot.  That I do remember.”

“Let’s start with furniture then,” Varric changed the subject, and pushed stuff aside, muttering impatiently under his breath until he reached an ancient looking cradle. “My family’s for generations,” he said softly. “Made in Orzamaar with imported wood, of course. Andraste‘s Ass, House Tethras was so pretentious.” His dismissive words were contradicted by his gentle tone and touch.

“Impressive,” Sebastian nodded at it thoughtfully. “How’d you get it?”

“Bribes,” Varric admitted wryly. “Took a few months, but here it is.”

Hawke was opening crates and looking inside, with the ease of long practice. “Varric, most of these things are… really odd,” she observed, lifting a frilly dress with one finger that was far too elaborate for any infant.

“Yeah, they were gifts,” Varric repeated. “What do we need? Can we use any of it?”

“You’ll need diapers,” Hawke made a face and then scratched the bridge of her nose, leaving a smear of dust across it, making Sebastian chuckle. “Clothes that you won‘t mind being spit up on and worse. Who sent you a stuffed nug?” She lifted it in the air with an incredulous look.

“That is adorable,” Sebastian took it from her enthusiastically. “With wings,” he said, lifting one up. “That’s so…” he noticed both the others staring at him incredulously. “I mean, that’s clever,” he cleared his throat. “They obviously have talent.”

“That would be from Krem, he’s a ‘Vint mercenary with the Inquisition. Bull said he‘d be sending one along.”

Hawke sighed and gave up trying to find anything useful in the crates. “Varric, get your things.” She smiled wickedly, “Luckily for you I need to go shopping anyway.”

“You don’t have a closet in here,” Sebastian noticed suddenly. “You’ll need a wardrobe.” He frowned, “Leave that to me. You and the Champion can do the… necessary shopping,” he muttered. “And the Inquisition hires mercenaries that make stuffed nugs with wings?” Hawke could almost see his mind whirring with confusion and assumptions about the Inquisition breaking away in his head.

Varric chuckled, “It’s a different sort of group, that’s for sure. You should see them fly out of a trebuchet. The nugs, not the mercenaries. Great fun, that was, until Curly put a stop to it. Spoilsport. Said that we were going to disrupt his calibrations, seeing how far we could get them to fly.”

“I need to meet the Inquisitor,” the Prince grumbled. “Any woman that can unite such a disparate group of people… But Maker’s Breath, that means I’d have to deal with their Ambassador again. I’d rather die. That woman is frightening. The letters she wrote to me after the invasion… I had never realized tact could be so scary.”

“You said it,” Varric muttered without humor, and they left the room. “You should try playing Wicked Grace with her. You deserve to lose.”

***

Hawke and Sebastian worked on the little room for nearly two weeks straight, slowly pulling it together, with the help of the household for the larger items. “Honestly,” Hawke said at one point, tossing the nug at his head so he could attach the little gift tags Varric had written up. “Still think it’s cute?”

Sebastian tied the ribbon around its neck and tossed it back at her to set in the cradle, polished and ready. “I said ‘adorable’, not cute. But… that is a flying nug, right there,” he said reasonably. “No one ever said it had to be a real nug. How many things are possible now, Marian, now that a nug has flown?” He laughed at his own weak joke as Hawke rolled her eyes.

Hawke huffed, “Not as many as you’d think, Vael,” she assured him, and turned to start hanging garments in the newly finished wardrobe, still smelling of varnish and cedar. “I tend to swear by far more unlikely things.”

“Such as?”

She smiled, “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Well, there was that one about Andraste’s nipple rings,” Sebastian frowned, in mock disapproval, “But you never know, do you?”

“Do I have nipple rings? Or do I know if Andraste had them?”

“I know you don’t have nipple rings,” Sebastian came up behind her and kissed her neck. “And why shouldn’t our Lady have had nipple rings, if she felt so inclined? Perhaps the ancient Alamarri practiced nipple piercing? I‘ve hardly made a thorough study, and the experts on the subject live in Ferelden.”

Hawke giggled and leaned into him. “Is that the official stance of the Chantry, Brother Sebastian? That Andraste had nipple rings?”

“My point is that certain… things are far more likely, now that we’ve determined that nugs can fly, Andraste might have had pierced nipples, and you…” he smiled and kissed her neck again, and pulled her back against his body, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You might… love me.”

Hawke froze, and then thawed a trifle. “That does seem like a good point,” she murmured, and leaned into him further. “It’s far more unlikely than a flying nug, however, that you would… love a mage.”

“Why is that unlikely?”

“The Chantry says…”

“Fuck the Chantry,” Sebastian shocked her and she spun around to see his face, cast in shadow. “Marian,” he backed her against the wardrobe, “I followed you, at the Gallows. I regret the manner in which I followed, I…wish I had not demanded… but… I agreed with you. Mages have been mistreated, the Chantry has been wrong. It is a fallible institution, led by the mortal, however inspired by the divine. But for the record, I do not love ‘a mage‘, I love a _woman_. I love Marian Hawke. The fact that she is a mage is a detail in the overall picture of her life. She is the woman, whom if things had gone differently, would be Viscountess instead of Varric. She is the woman who challenged her own fears over and over again, whom I want desperately to share my life with, the one who thought it was possible to redeem me. She is a miracle, and a force of nature.” He ran his hands down her sides and drew her against him firmly. “She is a gift.”

“Still injured,” Hawke reminded him breathlessly.

“Then tell me where it hurts and I’ll kiss it better,” Sebastian murmured thickly. “But I really don’t want to wait any longer for you to heal.” He pressed his mouth to hers impatiently, and Hawke took a risk, and sent sparks into his lips with her tongue. He jerked back, surprised, and then smiling, bent back and captured her mouth one more time, this time more gently, though just as insistent and far more thorough. Hawke kept sparks running over and between them, tingles in his mouth and her own, a prickle of desire that built and built until he had to break away. “Marian,” he started to ask, panting, “would you…”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Varric’s voice came from the door. “Can’t I leave you two alone for half a minute without you making it an opportunity, Choir Boy? Manhandling my best friend in my baby‘s room?” His voice was amused, and wry. “For shame.”

“He wasn’t manhandling anything, Varric, much to my disappointment,” Hawke threw back impertinently. “All hands accounted for.” She waved her own in the air, but Sebastian left his stubbornly on her hips.

“Disappointment duly noted,” Sebastian chuckled, closing his eyes in resignation. “I’m sorry, Varric, for taking liberties with your friend in an… inappropriate place,” he began, “but I strongly suspect that anywhere in Kirkwall you would deem inappropriate, given a chance to object.”

“Good point,” Varric agreed. “So when are you going home? Don‘t let me stop you.”

“When she will come with me,” Sebastian murmured, almost too quiet for either of them to hear. Hawke stared at him, still up against the wardrobe, meeting his hopeful blue eyes with her own scared ones.

“That’s up to her,” Varric walked around the room, and set the cradle rocking. “You know I’m staying out of it, trade agreements or no trade agreements. It‘s her life,” he said quietly, and pulled himself into the chair they had placed by the fire. “This is amazing,” he admitted. “Hawke… you did so much with what we had.” He fingered the little tag on the afghan sitting on the back of the chair. “It’s just… great,” he finished lamely.

“I…” Hawke couldn’t focus on Varric. “I… Varric, I need to read that contract,” she requested.

“On my desk,” he offered, still looking around. “Cass thought you’d want them sooner than this. They’ve been sitting there for over a week. At least I won this bet. I’m going broke otherwise, two silvers at a time. Not that I mind losing to her, or anything. Let me know if you want me to explain any of the legalese. Shouldn’t be too bad, though. Not a strong Merchant’s Guild in Starkhaven, and it shows. You lot have promised too much. A hundred and one loopholes in that thing,” he shook his head in mock disapproval at Sebastian who didn’t even notice.

Hawke barely heard, shifting her eyes to stare at Sebastian‘s chest, still so close, “Come with me?” She asked, a little afraid to do it on her own.

“I’m going to stay right here,” Varric replied. “You and Choir Boy should do that stuff together.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Hawke told him quietly, lifting her eyes back to Sebastian who was trying not to smile, and then breaking the gaze to look at Varric.

“Good,” he met her eyes briefly. “And… I’m happy for you, if not for him,” he admitted. “Now get out of here and let me enjoy the space before Cass gets in here and rearranges everything,” he joked. “I’ll let you know when I show her around.”

Hawke trailed down the stairs, Sebastian just behind her. “I’m just reading it, okay?” She reassured herself. “It’s just me reading a piece of paper.”

“Come with me,” he responded bluntly. “I’ll promise you anything, give Varric whatever he wants… just… come with me.”

“What if you change, when you’re there? What if you’re like… before?” They reached the study, and Hawke grabbed the door frame hearing a faint hiss of Fear in her head. “I don’t think I could take that, Sebastian.”

“Then come, and bring the contracts and see what happens,” he nearly begged. “I need you, Marian. Don’t make me go back without you.”

“Are you more afraid of being alone or…” Marian frowned. “I need to know,” she whispered, and turned to the desk, and carried the stack of papers there over to the side table that was more of an appropriate height for both of them. “Sit,” she told him bluntly. “We’re going over this, item by item. Without any of the people to make it complicated. And then I’m going to make some changes, and have Varric look at them, and then you’ll have your people look at them, and…”

“You’re afraid,” Sebastian realized. “Marian, you’re…”

“Absolutely petrified,” she shook. “I don’t know how to…”

“Stop delaying,” Sebastian took the paperwork from her. “None of this matters. I would give you the moons if I could, just to have the pleasure of your company for the rest of my life.”

She stared him down, “I…” she swallowed. “I will go back with you,” she told him. “To see. Just to see. To make sure…”

“To make sure I love you? To make sure you love me? To make sure that the Chantry will marry us? To make sure that Starkhaven will accept you? To guarantee that I will say the words ‘I will love this woman forever’ and swear by the Holy Andraste when I say it?” Sebastian leaned in. “It will not be easy, Marian, but I will be with you. And, Maker willing, you with me.” His voice broke and he set the papers down a little too hard, slapping them against the table. “Is this your revenge? To leave me in torment?”

“No…” Hawke raised her hand and rested it on the back of his. “It’s… it’s more painful for me, Sebastian, I…” she swallowed again, “I love you,” she admitted. “I do. I want to go back with you, but my choices all end in misery. How can we possibly expect…”

“Then let me make this change,” Sebastian pulled the papers over and flipped to the end and made a swift notation in a hand that would normally have been neat, except for the emotion behind the scratching pen. “There,” he finished, and spun it back to face her, staring her down. “Read it.”

“’The Prince of Starkhaven promises the Champion of Kirkwall…’” Hawke’s voice broke. “’Happiness?’ You can’t know…”

“And you can’t know that we’ll be miserable,” he countered. “And this way, every time you are unhappy, you can drag it out and throw it in my face and I will be bound, legally, to fix it.” He stood up. “That’s…” his voice broke again. “That’s my final offer, Champion. I will honor it. You know where to find me.” And he left the room and Hawke laid her head down on the table and wept.

Sometime later, she wiped her eyes, scratched her name on the end of the parchment, very slowly, taking care to be legible, and went to find Varric in his office. “I think I’ll be taking a trip,” she started, trying to be nonchalant, even with swollen red eyes and a stuffy nose, leaning up against the door frame.

“I know,” Varric grinned at her. “Saw Choir Boy going by like a rain cloud. Getting married, aren’t you? Thought he‘d be a little happier about it, personally, but Cass said it was a good sign. I don‘t have the hang of romances, myself, but she would know.”

“I will be, if I haven‘t blown it already,” Hawke admitted. “I just have to get the words out.  Or he does, or something.  How do these things normally work?”

“Then why are you talking to me?” Varric chuckled. “I’m taken, Hawke. But we’ll come for the wedding.”

“Same here,” she managed. “Varric?”

“Yeah?”

She crossed the room in two strides and wrapped her arms around him, “Thanks for everything. I adore you, you know. I‘ll cry myself to sleep without you.”

“Love you, too,” Varric choked out. “Just… put him out of his misery, Hawke. Please, for everyone in Kirkwall‘s sake.” He pulled away, “Just tell the maids when they need to start packing your stuff? They can head down and work on Amell House, too.”

“Thanks for the offer,” she choked, overwhelmed, and left the room, to find Cassandra nodding in approval, blatantly eavesdropping. “Seeker,” she smiled, not bothered in the least, “Excuse me, I have to find the Prince of Starkhaven.” She crossed the landing, and climbed the stairs to the hall of bedchambers slowly, wondering what the fuck to say.

He was pacing in his room when she opened the door. “I need to be alone,” he stated gruffly. “Please leave. You can clean in here later.”

“No,” Hawke said softly. “I’m done running.” He looked up, surprised, and she handed him the contract. “Varric will want a copy of that,” she whispered. “But… I signed it. I…”

“Marian?”

“I’m coming with you, assuming...” her face crumpled. “I… I didn‘t mean to make you think that I was trying to torment…”

“I didn’t mean…” he started at the same time and laughed a little bitterly, “We still don’t talk well. This is going to be an ongoing problem.”

“I’m afraid you’ll be different there than here,” Hawke admitted, brow furrowed. “That it will be your prince voice all the time.”

“My… prince voice?” Sebastian looked confused.

“The pissy one,” Hawke corrected crisply. “I still hate the Prince of Starkhaven, and if he comes back, I’ll…”

“I could still renounce…”

“It’s not the job, it’s who you are when you start to act all prince-y,” Hawke tried to explain, frustrated. “I thought about adding that, but decided that your last offer covered it rather well. I wouldn’t be happy, I’d be miserable if you were like that all the time.”

“I would like to think it would cover everything,” Sebastian stammered. “Does this mean…”

“It means,” Hawke confirmed in a whisper. “I… don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to stay here without you. I guess… I guess if you sign that thing, too, I’m moving to Starkhaven.” She looked at her feet, a shoulder width apart, and then twisted her foot sideways idly. “Say something,” she muttered.

“I can’t say anything,” Sebastian plonked the pile of paper on the mantel and pulled her close. “I barely hoped...”

“Liar,” Hawke grinned against his chest, slowly wrapping her own arms around him. “You gave me Hope. I’ve been hearing singing in my dreams, Sebastian. For the first time ever. You gave me that, with just a few suggestions, and so you must have hoped at some point. Unless it was Merrill."

"Are you saying that I'm living up to my name?"  Sebastian leaned against the side of her head, and spoke into her ear. “A choir of Hope. You must inspire them, Marian.” He swallowed and drew back slightly, letting her go. “I have something for you.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket. “I had it cleaned and polished and re-enchanted,” he opened it and handed it to her. “I’ve been carrying it for a week… hoping.” His smile was wry and sheepish, tilted up on one side.

“Meghan Vael’s locket?” Hawke’s lips trembled and she tried to hand it back. “I gave it back. I shouldn‘t have kept it in the first place.”

“And yet, I noticed that even though you left almost everything behind in Kirkwall, you had that with you,” Sebastian closed her hand around the box and smiled slightly, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” she admitted. “You aren’t. I always had it.”

“You have similar opinions to her about me in white,” Sebastian tried to lighten the moment. “Just… I didn’t want to offer it unless you had accepted me. I know you adore jewelry, you are nothing more than a magpie, hoarding shiny things and keeping them even when the enchantment wears out and they are worthless except for the metal they are made from…”

Hawke sputtered, a little offended, “I’m a magpie? This is not the sort of proposal I was expecting, Sebastian!”

“Definitely,” Sebastian smiled even wider and leaned his forehead against hers. “Forget a Hawke, you, my dear, are a magpie, a collector of shiny junk. But I would like you to have it now. The locket of the last Princess-Consort of Starkhaven, on the neck of the next.”

Hawke cleared her throat, and took it out of the box, opening it to reveal a small recent miniature of Sebastian, looking much as he did now, with slightly longer hair and a stern demeanor. He looked at her nervously, brows drawn in, but she smiled and placed it in his hands. “Put it on? I would be… honored,” she turned to let him clasp it. “She was obviously a woman with good taste in jewelry.” He finished, trailing his hand down her neck, making her shiver, and she turned back to face him. “Did she love your grandfather?”

Sebastian shrugged, “I have no way of knowing. Their marriage was arranged. My own parents… tolerated each other. But we… will have something different. I hope.”

“I will be very unhappy if we do not,” Hawke laughed.  "You know, you still have to ask me.  Isn't that usually how these things work?" 

“I’ll get right on that,” he murmured and tipped her chin up to kiss her. “Would you marry me?” He sounded nearly wistful.

“Hmmm,” Hawke pretended to think. “All right."

He kissed her enthusiastically, sweeping her up against him, as she laughed her little trill into his lips, stifled with his delight.  "Can I make love to you?"

"Probably would be good for the other side of the Veil to feel something good going on," Hawke couldn't stop laughing now, as he peppered her with small kisses. 

“The Veil?” Sebastian pulled back, confused. “Hawke, what does the Fade have to do with us having sex?”

“Just a theory,” Hawke waved him off. “But yes, Sebastian, you may. Only,” she laughed, “Not tonight.”

Sebastian groaned again, “Not tonight? Why not?”

“Because Varric knows that I’m in here accepting you,” she said bluntly, folding her arms against her chest. “Too much information, too much ammunition, and I really don’t want to be in his next book! Do you?! One was enough!”

“I wouldn’t mind, as long as I’m not the villain. It would be just like Varric to cast me as the evil prince, or a horny, desperate monk, or…”

Hawke laughed at him outright, “Well, I’m sure I’ll be cast as the princess,” she pouted, “so, you might need to prepare yourself to be in the story of "The Princess and the Monk",” she giggled. “But I’m saying… not now.”

“Very well,” Sebastian stood up straight. “Let me take you into dinner then. Obviously not disheveled or compromised in any way and newly betrothed?”

“A little disheveled would be fine,” Hawke winked. But she smiled and tucked her hand into his arm. “But not being absent entirely will throw Varric for a loop. Definitely worth it.  We have to keep him guessing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to Train's 'Marry Me' on repeat for this chapter.


	20. Nesting and Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW towards the end - but the true smut is in the next chapter. Two more will be posted today, so that I can finish this section and get on with it. ;)

Scarcely three days later, Cassandra tackled Varric unpredictably. “We are not prepared,” she informed him in a panic. “This child could come at any moment. We have no name, no room… we have no blankets or clothes…” She had already worked herself into a state, Varric could see, so he stood from his desk and started to steer her towards their home.

“Hey now, Cass,” he soothed.

“Do not hey me,” the Seeker gritted out through stifled tears. “I suppose you think you did your part months ago, and that it is the woman’s job to prepare for the arrival of an infant! You are wrong,” she loosened her blade in its scabbard. “And I will fight you if you try to tell me differently.”

Varric’s eyes went wide. “Cass,” he started again, “I have something to show you. Just… put the sword away, all right?”

Cassandra eyed him suspiciously but sheathed her sword, slowly. “I will give you a chance,” she muttered, still upset. “What do you want to show me?”

Varric took her hand and lead her up to the hallway that had their bed chamber off it. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into closing your eyes?”

“Absolutely not,” sniffed the Seeker. “You are on borrowed time, dwarf, so make it quick. There is nothing in this room but Asta’s books and other random things.”

Varric swallowed nervously, “All right, but just remember that if you don’t like anything, you can change it, Seeker.” And he swung the door open.

The first thing that she noticed was a cradle of polished dark wood next to a comfortable looking chair. A stuffed nug was sitting in the cradle, with a small bow around its neck that said, “For Squirt, from Krem’. Cassandra’s mouth tightened and she noted the knitted afghan across the back of the chair, and crossed over to look at it.

It, too, had a tag, and she read, ‘For Seeker Pentaghast and Squirt. From Aveline and Donnic.’

“She knits in her spare time, now that we aren‘t traipsing around after Hawke,” Varric explained awkwardly. “She had me pick the colors and everything. I hope orange was okay. I like orange, and… I didn’t want to pick anything too girly, though if Squirt ends up being a girl, that’s fine, obviously…”

Cassandra didn’t reply to his babble, merely turning away to an entire shelf full of children’s books, with a massive card on top that read, “For Squirt, from Auntie Asta and Uncle Cullen, with love.” Cassandra’s eyes started to fill with tears.

“Josie sent the bookshelf,” Varric explained, ‘But Asta and Curly sent the books. They made sure there were Dalish, and Dwarven, and Nevarran, and Marcher, and Fereldan… though I don’t think I saw any Orlesian tales in there…” he walked over and squinted at the tiny titles on the shelf. “Nope, I was wrong. The Three Little Empresses*,” he blanched. “I might want to set that aside until Squirt is older,” he muttered. “I hardly want him to learn the Game in the cradle.”

Cassandra sat down abruptly in the chair and ran her hands over the armrests.

“It rocks,” Varric said, embarrassed at his own gift now. “I told Dagna what I needed and she sent it over in pieces. Hawke had another Smith assemble it. Hope that it’s okay.”

Cassandra shook her head, and then leaned over the antique looking cradle. “And this?” She asked, bewildered. “It has the Tethras clan insignia…” her words trailed off in wonder.

“Yeah,” Varric scratched his head. “I bribed a couple of my parents’ retainers to get the old thing out of storage and ship it over. After all, Squirt is it, unless my father had a bastard I don’t know about. Figured there was no point having another one made when this one was just laying around gathering dust.”

Cassandra made a small involuntary noise, and swiveled around in the chair, her eyes landing on the mantel, where toy soldiers and a small painted box were lined up, and then to the wall, where a painting of Skyhold in Spring was hung, with another note tied to the frame with a ribbon.

“That arrived just last week from Josie,” Varric informed her quietly. “She thought we might like to be able to show Squirt where the Inquisition lives. Not entirely sure about it as a teaching tool, but it’s a pretty enough castle, I guess.” Cassandra managed a nod.

There was a sturdy fireguard at the grate, and locks on all the windows, and heavy curtains to block out the daylight for naps. There was a quilt on a rack, in orange and touches of light green, with little embroidered leaves twining all over it, smaller than the afghan.

“Daisy sent that over,” Varric muttered, “She said babies sleep hot, but that it would be nice to have to lay on the ground underneath them during play time.”

And then Cassandra turned to the wardrobe and Varric had to clear his throat to tell her to open it. She pulled one door open and two rows of baby things, sorted by function, were arranged within. “Hawke helped a lot,” Varric admitted, “I had no idea what we needed, but for some reason, she really got into this. She talked to Lirene in Lowtown and started plotting. Choir Boy picked out the wood for the wardrobe, paid for the carving. I think they are supposed to be swords and shields?” Varric squinted, “Dammit, I need my glasses,” he muttered. “Pretty, I guess. He was probably trying to be funny. Wish he would stop trying. There are more blankets and some diapers in the drawers underneath,” he shifted back and forth on his feet, more than a little nervous with the Seeker’s lack of response. “Do you hate it?”

Cassandra shook her head, “It’s too much,” she confessed, “How… All of them?!”

“Well, Bull and Sparkler say their gift will be coming later,” Varric scanned his love’s bewildered face, twitching slightly. “But yeah, even Buttercup sent the toy soldiers and that strange painted box that she said was hers when she was a kid, and a mini bow with arrows. The bow is in our closet until Squirt is old enough to learn. The Iron Lady sent the beginning rune books on the shelf and a really frilly Nameday gown that I can’t imagine either of us wanting to use. And the Divine sent an illustrated copy of the Chant… Noticeably missing from Asta’s contributions, you’ll note,” he huffed a small laugh. “Asta only sent fairy tales and children’s histories. And I got a letter from the Kid last week saying that Maryden had written a lullaby, but that he couldn’t sing, and we wouldn’t hear it even if he could. So he sent the sheet music instead. I don’t read music, though, so I’m not sure what to do with it. Oh, and Hero says he’s making another rocking Griffon, but we’ll have to wait until another Warden comes through Kirkwall and can deliver it.”

Cassandra had stopped crying and was staring at him blankly. “All that as well? For our child?”

“Well, yeah,” Varric said slowly.

“And I have done nothing,” Cassandra’s lip quivered in guilt. “Everyone has done everything for me, I have only complained and whined…”

“No, Cass,” Varric stepped to her side. “You were growing Squirt. The most important job. Everyone just wanted to make this easier on you. Don’t beat yourself up. If you want to do something, there are still things we need. Hawke couldn’t get everything pulled together fast. Kirkwall doesn‘t specialize in child friendly. You might have noticed that, actually.”

“I…” Cassandra’s voice broke and she cleared her throat irritably, “I read music. I would like to see the song. I cannot sing, but I would like to read it, at least.”

“Whatever you want, Seeker,” Varric managed to smile, relief crossing his face. “It was getting a bit hard to hide all this. I’m shocked I managed to keep you in the dark this long. Oh, and Daisy says she would be happy to come after he’s born and help out, whenever we need an extra pair of hands.”

“You have amazing friends, Varric,” Cassandra swallowed, “I’m so overwhelmed, I… I don’t know…” Her hands shook when she took hold of one of his and sat back down in the chair, feeling it rock with her movement and relaxing into it.

“No, Cass, you’ve got it wrong,” Varric corrected. “ _We_ have amazing friends.” He paused, “Are you feeling better?”

Cassandra laughed shortly, “Yes, and no. We still don’t have a name, Varric. He can’t go by Squirt forever!”

Varric pulled up the footstool that went with the chair and leaned on her knee. “Well, what do you think about the name Garrett?”

Cassandra opened her eyes only to glare at him, “Why Garrett?”

Varric shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ve just always liked the name?”

“Absolutely not,” the Seeker vetoed definitely. “Too Fereldan.” She thought for a moment, “Daniel?”

Varric frowned, “Nah, same reason as Antonia. Seriously, Cass, I didn’t think you’d want to reuse names this badly. And doesn’t ‘Danielle’ sound vaguely Orlesian to you?”

“I’m not creative like you,” Cassandra shot back, “How do you name your characters, anyway?”

Varric visibly flushed, “Well, for Hard in Hightown I sort of rearranged some letters…”

Cassandra chuckled, “Donnic?”

“Yeah,” muttered the dwarf. “We could reuse one of your names, maybe?”

“Over my dead body _and_ yours,” she threatened.

“Well, damn it, Cass,” Varric got frustrated, “Do you just want me to give in?”

“No,” insisted the Seeker, “But there has to be something we can both agree on!”

“I’m beginning to doubt that,” he grumbled. “We could just ask someone else to do it.”

Cassandra stared at him for a moment and then smiled, relieved. “Yes, let’s do that!”

“What, really?”

“Let’s ask Hawke to name our child,” the Seeker said, perfectly content. “It is the perfect solution. She will pick something appropriate.”

Varric paled, “Seeker, you’ve read the book, multiple times even. Hawke doesn’t exactly specialize in ‘appropriate’.”

“Nonsense, she is reliable, kind, and a wonderful role model,” Cassandra nearly bubbled with enthusiasm. “She will not pick her own name, or a name that will cause negative associations. She will pick something lovely.”

“She named her dog, ‘Dog’,” Varric stressed as a last resort. “Do you really want our child to go by ‘Baby’? Or ‘Girlie‘ or ‘Sonny‘?”

“That was different,” scoffed Cassandra, “That was a dog. She will take this far more seriously. Now, you go and ask her. I’m going to go through all these drawers and fold things better, and shift the clothing around by type, not size, and move the furniture…”

“Oh no you don’t,” laughed Varric. “No furniture moving. I’ll send up Glynnis and some maids if things need moving. You can fold, though.”

Cassandra frowned at him, and then unaccountably smiled. “Very well,” she replied serenely and far too sweetly, “I will behave, as you are going to agree, and talk to Hawke right this very minute.”

Varric scowled, “What happens if I ask her, she says yes, and then you change your mind?”

“I never change my mind,” the Seeker announced, ‘I merely discover additional information that requires me to adjust my thinking! Now quit putting me off and go speak to your - our - friend.”

Varric could only chuckle and obey, “All right, have it your way, Cass. I’ll ask.”

***

Varric found Hawke in his study, writing letters to Carver and Fenris explaining her engagement, and cussing thoroughly with the attempt, while Sebastian went through his own packet of correspondence, trying not to laugh at her frequent blasphemies. He stood and watched her for a few minutes, before speaking.

“Hawke, would you like a distraction?” Varric offered freely.

“Please,” Hawke sunk her head into her hands. “I swear, I have no way of telling Carver the news. Fenris is one thing - he‘ll just chuckle and wish me well. Probably.  I mean, of all of you, he probably likes Vael the best, but Carver…”

“What, ‘Hey, Junior, I’m getting married. Yeah, to _that_ guy. Meet me in Starkhaven if you want to see it,’ doesn’t do it for you?” Varric chuckled, and shrugged. “In any case, Cass and I have been talking, and she wants you to name our baby. How about it?”

“Seeker Pentaghast wants me to do what?!” Hawke sputtered and stared at her dearest friend who immediately started to laugh. “She does realize that I named my dog ‘Dog’? And that I wanted to name Bethany and Carver ‘Toast and Sausage’ after my favorite breakfast? Carver was supposed to be ‘Toast‘”, she added helpfully. Sebastian wisely kept his mouth shut and his eyes on his letters, but his lips were twitching.

“You were four!” Varric replied, far too reasonably. “We can’t agree, Hawke. If you refuse, I’m going to have to deal with an incredibly stressed out Seeker or a child that could be nicknamed ‘Toni’. Please, Hawke, I’m begging you. For me?” The dwarf looked up at her through his eyelashes beseechingly.

“Damn you, Varric,” Hawke sighed, “Can’t anyone in Kirkwall take care of things on their own? But I’ll try. If either of you hate what I come up with, though, you‘re on your own.”

“It’s a deal,” Varric left the study quickly, before Hawke could change her mind.  "I'll let Cass know we're off the hook."

Sebastian frowned from his place at the worktable, surrounded by letters, “Marian, where in the world are you going to come up with a name for Varric’s baby?”

“I have not the foggiest idea,” she panicked. “But I can’t resist Varric when he goes so far as to beg me. He just looks at me like I’m his last hope, and… I crumble. You’ve got to help me, Sebastian. Names, I need names. How many names are in the Chant of Light? Lots, right?”

“Victoria, Andraste, Hessarian, Maferath, Shartan…” he started to list. “But they're all rather old-fashioned. I doubt either Seeker Pentaghast or Varric would appreciate them. If necessary I could name Divines…”

“No, that’s no good, we‘ll end up with a Hortensia,” she started to pace. “Do you speak Nevarran?”

“Very little.”

“Damn it, and I only know one female dwarf, and we are absolutely _not_ naming her Bianca,” Hawke vowed. “What about a flower? Varric says the Seeker liked getting flowers… girls are named after flowers!”

Sebastian made a face. “Don’t go there. Please. He already knows a Daisy and a Buttercup, apparently. So please, don’t make an entire bouquet.”

Hawke sat down at the desk and sunk her head into her arms. “It’s hopeless,” and then she got an idea. “I need a Nevarran dictionary. Varric must…” she walked over and scanned the overfull shelves feverishly. “Thank the Maker,” she sighed, and picked it out and flipped open the cover. “It’s Cassandra’s,” she said, with some surprise, and started flipping. “Oh, it’s pretty,” she said with relief, “Even better.”

“Marian?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “What are you… out of a dictionary?”

“That’s it,” Hawke relaxed. “Now I just have to figure out a boy name, and that’s easy.” She smiled evilly. “That will teach Varric to saddle me with this,” she snickered. “He’d better hope it’s a girl.”

“Marian, you’re scaring me,” Sebastian observed her warily. “Are you going to tell me?”

“And ruin the surprise?” Hawke shook her head and giggled. “He’ll never forgive me, and I’ll never have to name anything ever again,” she announced proudly. “I will have to leave Kirkwall forever,” she laughed in delight.

“What in the world are you thinking?” Sebastian eyes were wide.

“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.” She winked at him.

“With sparks?” Sebastian bargained, his eyes growing dark with calculation.

“I guess you don’t want to know then,” Hawke shrugged, Wicked Grace face in place. “That’s a shame.” She stood up and sauntered over to shelf to put the dictionary back, hips swinging, and Sebastian struggled to shove his letters back into his satchel in order to follow her, unable to resist. “You’ll just have to wait for the baby to be born, I suppose,” she smirked over her shoulder and started for the door.

“Marian,” Sebastian beat her to the door. “Tell me,” he murmured, and bent down to her neck, pecking a kiss on it lightly.

“Hmm,” She thought for a moment, “Nope, not good enough,” she decided.

“Tell me,” Sebastian wheedled, and moved up higher, nearly under her chin, mouthing her enough to make her hum louder.

“Going to have to do better than that,” Hawke urged him on.

Sebastian pulled back, lips pressed together, thinking, and then spun her back against the door, pressing her against him, full length. “Better?”

“Getting there,” dared the Champion playfully. “Still no kisses, though.” He slid a hand down deliberately to cup her ass and press him against him, where he was already hardening, just being close to her. “That’s not a kiss either, Sebastian,” she teased, not fighting or encouraging at all.

“It’s coming,” Sebastian assured her. “I’m just waiting.”

“For what, the end of the world?”

“For the right moment,” he said, eyes darkening, and leaning in, waiting for her to meet him the rest of the way. “Timing is everything.”

“Is it now,” Hawke purred. “Do tell?”

“Mmhmm,” he affirmed, “If I were to kiss you now, you’d wouldn’t be anticipating anything. It would be ‘just a kiss’, and we’ve shared enough of those. I want more than that. I want to kiss you in a way that will make you forget anyone that you have ever kissed before me.”

“I see,” Hawke was amused. “I think I have a better shot at that then you do. I‘ve kissed a lot of people.  Some were very memorable.”

“I beg to differ,” Sebastian replied, cocksure. “I may not have magic, but what I have is knowledge of you. I have been paying attention, my Champion. I know, at this point, how to drive you crazy with desire, how to melt you in my arms, how to have you begging for more of me as I walk away and leave you wanting. The question is… are you ready for me to kiss you in a way that will spoil you for anyone else?”

Hawke tried to control her breathing, and then threw caution to the wind. “Why not? I’m game, Sebastian. But that‘s a mighty big claim to fill. Sure you‘re up to it?” The mild innuendo didn’t go over the former brother’s head, as he smirked back at her.

“Let‘s find out,” he smiled, triumph flashing in his eyes. “Here we go,” he leaned in further, still a breath away, and then slowly, slowly bent in. Hawke purposefully left her lips closed, intending to give him no advantage, but when he brushed his lips against hers gently instead of forced, and then chose to move, opening his own mouth first, with no tongue in the way to hint at her to open, she was intrigued, and followed his lead. He kissed her softly twice, and on the third finally teased her lips with just the tip of his tongue, disappearing nearly as soon as she noticed it, and then he squeezed her further into him and he moaned a little at the slight movement, his mouth opening wider, and started to kiss her in earnest.

Hawke shivered at the sound, and she felt him smile against her, and in response to her shudder, he captured her lip like he had on their first experimental kiss and sucked it into his mouth, sweeping her tongue into his mouth with the next movement, curling against her, seemingly without any ulterior motive other than prolonged contact. She was responding now, despite herself, kissing him back, still letting him set the pace - far less frenzied than their first - and he shifted to the other direction, dragging his tongue along hers, with his mouth just wide enough to let them through together. He brushed his lips, nearly closed again, against the corner of her mouth, and then, at last, sliding his hand under her hair to cup her hard, and keep her from moving, even as he started to move his other hand down her thigh and lifted to wrap her leg around him, and grind into her, rocking in a steady rhythm.

This time, she moaned and he pressed his advantage on two fronts, hardened cock and softer mouth, pushing her up against the door and firming to trace the line of her lips, and then dropping away from her mouth entirely to cross her cheek and up to her earlobe, never quite losing contact with her skin. Hawke couldn’t resist, she slid her hand to his ass in turn and started to knead the muscles there, making him mutter a curse that he shouldn't have known directly into her ear. She slid her other hand up to his neck and pulled her fingernails across the skin, stopping his breath for a moment, and then he dropped an inch or two, and started to work a mark into the tender skin of her throat. He pulled and nipped, and she panted and tried to reach him, even as he held her back just far enough to prevent her from reaching her goal.

“Sebastian,” she whined, “Maker take you.” He said nothing, but thrust more firmly against her core, “Mercy,” she panted.

“No,” Sebastian finally replied, and kept going, dropping his hand caught in her hair to her other thigh, to pull her other leg to wrap around his waist, supporting her easily with the help of the door. “There will be no mercy,” he muttered, and dropped his lips to the hollow of her throat now, leaving yet another mark with his teeth along the collarbone. “I am not inclined to be merciful, my Champion.” He rocked against her. “I have a goal,” he panted, and rocked up again, “And to reach that goal, I cannot, will not be distracted.” He met her mouth again and kissed her with all the pent-up anxiousness of a man in love that isn’t sure if his feelings are returned, only to slow down to the gentle ebb and flow of a man who is confident of his lover, and then it changed, yet again, to a slow glide up the jaw, as if he wasn’t sure where to go from there. “I want to make you happy,” he explained. “I want to… and I’m not sure I can.” He buried his face back in the angle of her shoulder, kissing just above her collar, as if he feared the confession would make her flee. “Will you let me try?”

Hawke was rocking against him, eyes shut, longing for more, but she managed a laugh, a sweet trill that sounded far less bitter than the first time he had heard it, “Depends what you think would make me happy.”

“I will do anything you desire,” he swore softly, and nipped her deliberately, making her cry out a little too loudly.

“I just want you,” Hawke opened her eyes and let him see her vulnerability. “But… not here,” she murmured gently. “Maker’s Breath, man, we’re still in Varric’s study. The only difference is that Cassandra isn’t right outside the door… that we know of.” He panted a laugh into her mouth again and kissed her impatiently, making her have to pull away to finish her thought. “We’ve got to at least make it upstairs.” He picked her up entirely and she laughed, shaking her head. “You can’t carry me again! Everyone in Kirkwall is still talking about the last time!”

“I will not let you go,” Sebastian warned her. “So either we use the desk, or the wall, or a chair, or I carry you, but damn it, Marian, I…” he shuddered and he stopped moving her against him. “I’m a little close to losing control,” he admitted.

“Not for our… first time,” she determined. “So I guess you’re carrying me, then.” She laughed as he smiled from his eyes, relieved that the wait was nearly over. “There will be a time for a desk, and a wall,” she ran her fingers up from his neck to his scalp. “But this time… we need a bed. I want a bed, with you in it,” she leaned forward and breathed in his ear, “and a bed with you in me, as far as you will go, as fast or as slow as you would like. You’re going to come fast, the first time, and we need that out of the way, so that we can take our time with the second, and perhaps the third. Because I’m finally going to have you in a bed, Sebastian Vael, naked, and for the purpose of making love to you, and we aren‘t going to leave that bed until at least morning.”

“As the Champion wishes,” laughed Sebastian, eyes shining, but Hawke shook her head.

“I‘m not the Champion with you,” she told him, gentle and firm.  "Take me to bed, Sebastian."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Real song that you pick up in Inquisition. I think you find it in the furniture shop in Val Royeaux? Obviously, property of Bioware.
> 
> The next chapter is strictly NSFW. I've tried to break it out, so that those who aren't interested in smut can just skip it without losing plot - and hopefully I've succeeded.


	21. She Makes Love to Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day, and it's all NSFW. There will be a third, because I want to finish this section, and still allow those not interested in the smut to skip it. The next chapter should be safe.
> 
> Chapter Title from Christopher Poindexter:
> 
> "What I love most  
> about her  
> is that she  
> knows how to  
> fuck reality  
> and  
> make love to  
> fantasy,  
> not something  
> many other humans  
> how how to do.
> 
> Imagination is her drink."

He opened the door with that, and carried her up the back stairs, suspiciously empty of any servants, and opened his door, as the first of their rooms they came to, setting her down on the bed and moving over her, cupping a breast and then fumbling to find her laces. “You know, you succeeded,” she told him softer yet. “This is the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.” She pulled his belt loose and tossed it over her shoulder playfully, letting it hit the wall behind her. “Strip,” she ordered, laughing with joy as he complied, pulling his tunic over his head, and pulling his laces free. “Now, as for that tattoo…” she eyed him teasingly, and he turned in profile, and showed her his upper thigh, and the black twist of the runes that curved to his buttock. “You have no idea how glad I am that it’s not the face of Andraste on your ass,” she bantered. “Which runes are those, then?”

“Devotion,” he replied, watching her slide out of her own breeches slowly. “Devotion and Duty.” He smiled, “I’d like to think I’ll get better at the first one.” She pulled her own shirt off, and paused, still in her smallclothes.

“I…” she stopped and then smiled, a little nervously. “As I said, you are going to come fast the first time.” She eyed his erection with a practiced eye. “And you are not going to feel guilty if I don’t make it before you, because after that, we can take our time, and I guarantee I‘ll be satisfied, more than once, and by the end of everything, hopefully you will know how to make me happy. The question is,” she asked deliberately, “Do you want sparks before or after?”

“I’m tempted to say both,” Sebastian crawled onto the bed above her and then let himself fall sideways onto the pillows. “And the heat you described, and perhaps the force magic, too. I want all of you. If I‘m going to expire so quickly, let‘s make it a good one, Marian.”

“Brave man,” Hawke approved. “All right, then, brace yourself,” she shifted to the side to face him. “Last chance to back out,” she teased. “After this, there’s no going back to the Chantry. I‘m pretty sure making love to a mage is the ultimate unforgivable sin.” She unwound her breastband slowly, sitting on her knees and letting her breasts fall free, while he stared, enraptured, and then she shifted again to remove her smallclothes.

“Marian,” Sebastian sighed at her irreverence, but smiled sheepishly, “I should have known the first day I saw you that there was no going back to the Chantry.” He raised a hand to touch her breast, sliding his palm and then his thumb underneath the curve. “Looking at you now, I’m even more convinced that I was a fool, if a lucky one.”

Hawke murmured, “You say the sweetest things. Now shut it, and kiss me.” Laughing quietly, he obliged.

The kiss started out slow, closed and soft, but she licked a spark into his lower lip, enough to make him open involuntarily while she suspended herself on her arms to cover his upper body as she manipulated his mouth open wide enough for her to slide inside and find him there, waiting. A single brush of her tongue against his and he was gasping her breath into his mouth, the inside of his lips and cheeks tingling with a teasing intensity. She slanted her mouth suddenly in the other direction, much like he had earlier, breathing slightly, but instead of his mouth, his chest grew warm, and then hot and he rushed to meet her the rest of the way, reaching up his hand to twist in the hair at the back of her neck and bring her closer, already never wanting the kiss to end, and craving the feel of her breasts against his chest. The heat burned up his neck, and down, and he moaned as it reached his groin, Hawke still sending sparks flying from the friction of his tongue against hers.

And then there was a sudden downward momentum and the bed dipped where he lay, making him arch up against the pressure. Hawke followed it, climbing over him restlessly while she continued her attack on his mouth. He slid his other hand, shaking, around and down to her hip, and then behind her knee pulling her down desperately against him.

“’Bastian,” she moaned brokenly, rutting against him with an arched back, and then meeting his mouth again. “Tell me to stop if I‘m scaring you. I don‘t want you to have to pray this away.”

“No,” he panted. “Don’t have anything to pray about yet. Don’t stop.” He put his hands on her hips and ran his hands up her sides to her breasts. “Will you let me come inside you? I know it‘s a lot to ask, but I‘ve been dreaming…”

She laughed huskily and started over, filling his mouth with tingling pinpoints that made him lose track of breathing again, even while he rushed to fill hers with his own tongue. “Hold on,” she muttered, and flipped him over on top of her deftly.

“I want to learn that trick,” Sebastian dove back in, pressing hard as she wrapped a leg around his hips. “Teach me that trick.”

“Careful what you ask to learn,” Hawke murmured, “But all right. Next time.” She arched up against his cock, and sparks flew from her fingers into his hip, making him cry out. “Damn, I’m losing control,” she muttered. “That was not intentional. Did I hurt you?”

“Maker, No! Does that mean we have to stop?” Hawke melted a bit with his protests and deliberately flushed him with heat again.

“Not unless you want to,” she breathed into him.

“Touch me with fire that I may be cleansed,” he groaned, drawing certain parallels.

“Oh, so we’ve reached the point where you’re going to have to chant now?” Hawke asked, amused, trying to get her magic back under control. “You know, if I wanted someone to pray in bed, I could have dated a Templar. Pretty sure that a few of them would have gone for me, kinky bastards.” But she flushed him again and made him moan desperately, realizing that he liked the heat best.

“Having regrets?” He managed through the subtle fever.

“Not a chance,” and she pulled him down with her magic, hard against her, making his arms give out, bending at the elbows while he moved down her neck to her collarbone. He lifted one arm and dropped it to her waist again, scooping her up as far as she could go as he knelt over her.

“It’s been a while, Marian,” he panted into her ear. “If we’re going to… it will have to be soon.”

“You make the call,” she arched up against him, positively eager. “It’s your chastity, not mine.”

“That’s not so,” He cupped her cheek so that she would open her eyes. “I’m under the impression that it’s both of ours.” He searched her urgently, looking for truth.

Marian bit her lip, frightened for just a moment and then nodded, “Yes,” she whispered. “Both of us.” Fumbling a little in her fear, she reached down and adjusted him to fit against her. “Go ahead,” she told him softly. “I’m ready if you are.” She smiled as he bent over with no hesitation, and slid in slowly, groaning at the feeling. “Here’s to leaping,” she laughed blissfully and arched her back to make him move through her. “Stay, Sebastian. I want to feel you, too. I‘m covered, I promise.”

He bent his head back to her mouth, winding around her with love, and she flushed him again, making sure the heat made it to his groin.  He started to glide into her, letting her send sparks to his cheeks and tongue until he had no idea where she ended and he began. He moved faster, trying not to feel guilty, realizing she was right, and shuddered into her a moment later, making her clench around him in reaction.

“One down,” he whispered, trying to make light, even while he was embarrassed.

“Sebastian,” Marian rolled over again, to rest on top of him. “There will be times when I will come fast and hard, and you will not. Nothing ever works completely like clockwork, even with magic. I need you to understand that. There is no guilt here. Ever.”

“I just don’t want to be selfish,” Sebastian brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I won’t let you be,” she laughed at him. “I think we can say that’s officially in my job description. As for me… I’m not far off myself. You could use your hands or your mouth if you’ve…” she blushed, “I should have asked more questions.”

“I have,” he whispered. “But I want to feel you… is that all right?”

“Always,” Hawke giggled at him. “I’d rather you did, honestly. The oral sex in my past has been a bit lacking in a certain something.” She tightened around him purposefully, feeling him soften slightly.

“We’ll have to see if I can change that,” he smiled, and stroked her backside gently. “With me still inside or…”

“Stay,” Hawke murmured. “If we’re lucky enough, you won’t ever have to leave me at all. Just… stay still, and pay attention,” she winked at him and sat up.

“As if I could do anything but,” Sebastian held her hip, and started to move his thumb gently near where they met.

“Sit up,” Hawke asked him gently, “And kiss me again?” He followed his instructions to the letter, letting her rock against his hand, and feeling himself stiffen again. “Are you… you’re already…”

“You have that effect on me,” he murmured. “Marian, you are absolutely the most gorgeous woman I have ever been with.”

“Oh, and I’m sure that decade of praying away your urges doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she countered breathily, his reaction increasing her pleasure. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

“Good, you need the practice,” he nuzzled his way down to her breast and pulled it into his mouth and she cried out. “Too much?”

“No,” she shook a bit. “Do it again, and keep going. Don’t stop.” He moaned into her breast with the admission as she rocked harder against him, pushing herself down and him deeper inside. “Make all the noise you want,” she panted. “That will help, too.”

“I don’t really have the option,” he noted wryly, and took the risk of sitting back slightly and pushing up. “Maker’s Breath, you make me want to move.”

“Don’t,” Hawke ordered. “I’ll tell you when.” She met his mouth again and shoved him back hard against the pillows by his shoulders, angling herself over him. “Let me do the moving for now. In fact,” she pulled his hand from between them, and grabbed the second and placed them both on her breasts. “Stay there,” she teased, laughing at the mock order.

“For now,” he agreed, but he was already letting a hand drop back to her backside, rocking her ass forward, and she let it happen, leaning further forward to fuck him in earnest, driving him deeper and deeper. “Move,” she demanded. "Deeper, ‘Bastian,” she hung inches away from his face, her eyes boring into him, and he thrust up quickly, trying to find her rhythm but losing himself in her again.

He panted, and raised to meet her, sweating far too much for such a sedentary position. “Marian, I…”

“Already?” She laughed with delight.

“Not quite,” he laughed in return, a blissful look on his face. “I love you,” he panted in her ear. “Bride of the Maker, I love you.” Hawke arched back away at the words, and cried out when he thrust in at the different angle, right at the edge of her own satisfaction. Sebastian debated, and then made a decision, rolling them both over and lifting her leg to fit around him, a little awkwardly. “You wanted deeper,” he reminded her. “I can go deeper.” He stared at her intensely, falling apart on his pillows, inky black hair spiking everywhere.

“Just don’t stop,” begged Hawke, desperate for release.

“I will never stop,” Sebastian vowed with gritted teeth, and lifted her other hip and drove himself inside her even harder. Hawke shuddered, and reached around to touch herself.

“So close,” she warned him.

“Then come to me,” he begged in his turn, moving constantly, but trying to slow down, to drag it out for her. “Let me feel you?”

She opened her piercing blue eyes and focused on him. “I love you,” she said softly, and broke apart as he buried himself again, nearly screaming. “Fuck,” she warned. “Keep moving!”

He could do nothing but, rolling his hips between her legs, trying to note where she arched and where she relaxed, but his thoughts as scattered as the sparks she shot into his thigh with her hand, bucking him forward deeper yet. “Marian, I’m…”

“Go ahead,” she laughed, letting the ripples wash over her in waves of bliss. “Don’t hold back on my account,” she teased. “I’d say it was your turn. Again.”

He chuckled, and wrapped his hands around her ass, “Then hold on,” he murmured, kissing her briefly but passionately. “Sweet Andraste, you are beautifully unmade.” Her hair spiked out, damp with sweat and exertion, and her face and chest flushed nearly red with the bloom of her orgasm.

“And who’s fault is that?” She asked him mockingly, while he started to press into her urgently. “Oh, Sebastian,” she gasped, surprised.

“Say it again,” he demanded, holding her thighs apart and moving faster, but watching her face.

Hawke sunk her fingertips deeper into his backside, fighting to stay composed. “Sebastian,” she managed, whimpering now, and then abruptly let him go for fear of burning him, twisting her fingers into the bed instead. “’Bastian,” she warned, “Maker, Sebastian…” She ignited, barely managing not to scorch the sheets and he nearly lost himself again with the violence of her release.

“Touch me with fire again,” he begged, pressing his head into the crook of her neck. “I want…”

Hawke curled her hands over his shoulder blades and kissed his shoulder gently, sending a trace of power through his body and rousing it to life. “I love you,” she breathed, and with that he filled her, groaning through his aftershocks and shuddering in the embrace of her arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go deep into the past for the music for this chapter: Depeche Mode's 'Enjoy the Silence' and 'Somebody'. Good stuff, though.
> 
> One more chapter to go for the day.


	22. No More Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW Last chapter of the day, I swear.

They laid together in his bed for some time, afraid to move or say a single word lest the spell of their lovemaking be broken. It was Sebastian who managed to speak first, but it was muffled in her chest, where his head lay. “You have ruined me,” he breathed. “Never have I… twice? So soon…”

Hawke stroked his hair tenderly, but could only manage a broken laugh. He lifted his head to look at her with a single eyebrow raised. “Just as well we were planning to be chaste, then, right?” Vulnerability wove through the lines of her face and she looked fragile as she almost never did.

“In the best meaning of the word,” Sebastian vowed, and rolled her over him to hold her better. “You realize it’s barely lunchtime, and that you promised me we weren’t leaving here until morning? I think you failed to plan. We’ll have to eat at some point, and…”

“And so the servants will talk when you ring for something to eat and find me wrapped only in your sheet,” shrugged Hawke easily. “They’ll talk anyway. The news should reach your men by this afternoon, and at least one of them will likely come and protest to you about the wisdom of fucking a mage, probably Ryan, since he seems the most unintelligent…”

“None of them will do any such thing,” Sebastian denied indignantly.

“Oh, you’re so naïve,” Hawke crooned, and kissed him briefly, a tinge of sadness on her face. “It always happens. Even when no one involved is serious. I‘ve spoken to more ‘concerned citizens‘ than my fair share.”

“They know better to question me,” he frowned, worrying for her. “And they will quickly realize just how serious this is.”

Hawke sighed, “And yet you want me to challenge your decisions?”

“That’s different,” he smiled, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, “You are not under my orders, and never will be. In any case, I am reluctant, even angry at the idea of _hiding_ pieces of you, as if I was ashamed to love everything about you. I am unable to prevent showing how…” he had to clear his throat, “happy you make me. So, please, Marian… don’t…”

“I’m not leaving,” she whispered, and laid her head down on his chest. “You really don’t want to hide my magic? Even though…”

“I want to tell all of Hightown,” he said softly. “Even if it means I get lectured by a Revered Mother, or if all my men-at-arms abandon me. I want to tell Kirkwall, and then Starkhaven, the rest of the Free Marches, and then the world. I want to have the banns read in the Chantry tomorrow, and…”

Hawke sat up, abruptly, staring, “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he swore impetuously.

“Then in the morning,” she said quietly, “I want you to tell your men they are released to go home.”

“I will do as you say,” Sebastian vowed.

“And then I want you to go with them,” Hawke continued, and Sebastian closed his eyes.

“Is this just one night then?” he asked thickly, assuming the worst. “Is that all I can have?”

Hawke put her fingers over his mouth. “Not at all,” she smiled sweetly, “I signed the contract, Sebastian. I won’t back out. But… I want you to prepare Starkhaven, Sebastian, for… me. I‘m not what they‘re expecting, even if they‘ve read the fucking book.”

“You mean it? This isn’t just the punch line of an elaborate joke?” He murmured against her fingers.

“I’m not that funny, as Varric keeps trying to tell me.” Hawke assured him. “If I’m going to…” she took a deep breath, “marry you in the fucking Chantry, as a mage, not a… frightened apostate, I need to get things in order here. I’ll have to pack. I’ll have to have some more things made so that you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me in pretentious Starkhaven, if I’m going to be a fucking princess and…”

He broke in at that point. “As if I would ever be embarrassed,” he shook his head. “You don’t have to give up your house here, or do any of those things. And I‘m going to wait and travel with you, my Champion. Champion and never Princess.”

“Well, that’s not going to confuse anything,” laughed Hawke, happy with his insistence. “But you can’t make everyone call me that.”

“Better than calling you Princess,” Sebastian rolled her sideways, pulling her leg over his side, sliding free of her body reluctantly. “You are the most unlikely Princess I think Starkhaven will ever have, and infinitely better than all of the ones before or after. And by calling you Champion, you will remind them that you have the backing of your own city. It‘s a deft political maneuver, Marian. You will be the Champion of Kirkwall, Princess-Consort of Starkhaven, Marian Hawke. I don‘t even want you to take my name.”

“Politics,” Hawke made a face. “I refuse to get involved. Been there, done that, have the armor. That’s your job. I’m only to be kept around for sex, arguments, and flinging fire at things, understand? Just play to my strengths, Sebastian.”

“No promises,” he refused and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “You never told me what you are going to name Varric’s child. Did you distract me on purpose?”

Hawke grinned wickedly, “Kiss me again and maybe I’ll tell you. But when would you like to leave, Your Highness?”

He swallowed, “Sebastian,” he corrected. “And we leave… when you are ready. You have things to prepare, and as I said, I will wait. I‘ve waited this long. A few more weeks isn‘t going to make a difference.”

“You have things to prepare too,” she smiled even more wickedly. “Your seneschal is going to be throwing the first prominent wedding featuring a mage bride in Southern Thedas and I have some… thoughts.”

“You and your plans,” laughed Sebastian easily. “Should I be frightened?” He whispered the last in her ear.

“Possibly,” Hawke hedged. “I’m dangerous.”

“Anything you like,” he wrapped an arm around the back of her waist and kissed her more enthusiastically than the topic called for. “Short of blowing up the Chantry, at least. It‘s costing me a lot of money to have Kirkwall‘s rebuilt properly. My grandfather is probably sputtering in the Fade at the expense. He‘d probably haunt me if I had to build two.”

“We won’t blow it up,” Hawke agreed. “Not on purpose, anyway. But if you mean to marry me there, I think it’s time to make a statement. Just not one on Anders’ level. You still have your Grandfather’s bow?”

“The Chantry and my Grandfather’s bow?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Where is this going?”

Hawke grinned, almost evilly. “You're going to love it.”

Sebastian shook his head, “I have no doubt. Please… enlighten me.” Instead of answering, Hawke pressed her hand against his chest to heat him up again, and make him groan and kiss her thoroughly.

"Later," she whispered.  "I'll tell you later.  Right now, there are more important things to think about."

 


	23. Hope and Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an except from one of Inquisition's Bard Songs "Once We Were".
> 
> "Once we were in our peace with our lives assured  
> Once we were not afraid of the dark  
> Once we sat in our kingdom with hope and pride  
> Once we ran through the fields with great strides."

Cassandra went into labor a week later, and no one realized for some time - including her.

“So she’s the suffer in silence type?” Hawke asked Varric quietly in the hallway where they had been banished, right outside the bedroom where a midwife and two assistants were laboring with her. He had refused to go any further away from her, despite their urging.

“You have no idea,” Varric couldn’t even joke, one foot against the wall, propped forward and tense with worry. “She told me that she had been having pains for two days, but that they weren’t regular, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and then her water just broke and…” He sunk to the floor. “Maker, Hawke, this could _kill_ her. What have I done? It‘s been hours, and I…”

“You had what I hope was really great sex and accidentally made a baby?” Hawke sighed, knowing she wasn’t helping. “Buck up, Varric. She’s tough, and strong. And she told me that her mother gave birth to her on a road halfway between Cumberland and Nevarra! This has to be better than giving birth in a carriage, right?” A groan came from inside the room at that moment. “Mind you, she doesn’t sound happy,” Hawke admitted, more alarmed than she liked to admit.

“Get him _in_ here!” A bellow came from the other side of the door and Varric leapt to his feet. “I don’t care what is _traditional_! I want him in here, _now_.”

Varric burst through the door before anyone could open it to find him and Hawke caught a brief glimpse of a very sweaty Seeker who reached for him in panic before the door swung shut. “I’m here, Cass, I’m here,” he soothed.

“You were right outside?” Her voice sounded surprised, and she took a gasping breath, almost a sob. “I can’t do it, Varric. It’s too hard.”

“You can do anything,” Hawke heard him say. “Breathe, babe. Come on, what does she need to do, Doc?”

“She needs to push! I can see the crown of the head.”

“You hear that, Cass? He’s almost here. Just a little more and…” Another groan echoed from the other side of the door and Hawke caught Sebastian’s rather worried eyes with her own. “Holy shit,” Varric sounded awed. “Damn it, Cass, he’s here. One more, babe, and he’ll be out and you never have to do this again. For me?”

“NO!” Cassandra yelled, but she groaned again, so long and drawn out that the silence afterward lingered. “Is that… is he…” A baby’s cry echoed against the stone, and then Hawke heard sobs like she had never heard before, broken and raw. “Why are you crying, dwarf?!” The Seeker’s horrified voice drifted through the door. “Varric, don’t cry. He’s…”

“She’s!” The midwife announced. “You have a beautiful, healthy daughter, Viscount Tethras, Seeker Pentaghast. Congratulations.”

“A girl?” Varric's voice was still thick, punctuated by the sound of newborn squalling. “Maker‘s Balls, Cassandra…” he was awed again. “Look, she glares just like you. Listen to those lungs! I love you,” he said enthusiastically. “I love you both. Andraste’s Ass, she looks just like you. So beautiful. Hey, there, Squirt. Who‘s Papa‘s precious girl?”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra’s voice was wry and full of fatigue. “A girl that looked like…” Her words were muffled immediately. “She could still look like you,” Cassandra capitulated after a minute. “That would be fine.” Hawke had never heard her voice sound so soft. “She is lucky to have such a father.”

“Well, all that black hair will probably fall out,” the midwife attempted to say, but obviously the new parents were not listening, from the muttered words that couldn‘t quite be made out between Varric's scattered sobs. Hawke pushed herself off the wall and pulled Sebastian away.

“They’ll want to be alone,” she murmured. “They’re all right, and they have a daughter. That’s what matters.”

“But the boy name,” Sebastian followed her. “What were you…”

Hawke laughed wickedly, “I was going to make him name him Cullen. In the glorious Hawke tradition of naming boys after Templars who let mage family members leave Kirkwall,” she snickered. “Still, I can save it for their next child.” She shrugged. “Plus it might have pissed off the Inquisitor, and that would be fun. She‘s a bit too prissy and a know-it-all.  Nice, and all that, but still prissy.”

“What makes you think either of them want to go through that again?”

“Oh, they don’t,” she assured him. “And the odds are against them. Still, Varric does have a way of tilting the odds, doesn’t he?” She winked. “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

***

The Nameday ceremony at the makeshift Chantry in Lowtown was understated, except for the regal gown the squirming infant wore, with a scowl on her face that was definitely her mother’s. She howled through the blessing, and when the Grand Cleric asked her name, Varric and Cassandra turned to Hawke, as her godmother.

“Her name is Nadiya,” Hawke announced clearly.

“Nadiya,” Cassandra clutched Varric’s shoulder. “But that is the word for…”

“’Hope’ in Nevarran*,” Hawke confirmed. “Maker, I hope you like it, because I’ve got nothing else.” She laughed nervously.

“It’s perfect,” Cassandra declared, her voice think with emotion, and Varric nodded, tracing his daughter’s already bald head with a gentle finger. “Her name is Nadiya Tethras-Pentaghast.”

“We’ve got to do something about that last name,” Varric muttered, but nodded in agreement.

“Nadiya Tethras-Pentaghast, by the Holy Andraste, and the Maker, I name you. May they both guide your steps and keep you safe,” the Grand Cleric said softly, raising her up to show the assembled guests. The baby squalled at the indignity of being out of her parents’ arms and thrust her feet out, kicking, but the Grand Cleric only laughed and delivered her safely back to her father.

“Hey, Nadiya,” Varric muttered and got a foot in his ribs for his trouble. “Oof. Chill out, Squirt. We’re still here, and it’s over. We’ll have you out of that horrible creation in about fifteen minutes.” His daughter scowled and kicked her feet impatiently against the fabric.

“It’s beautiful,” Cassandra frowned. “She never has to wear another dress, but a fancy gown for a Nameday is… something to treasure,” she said softly. “I still have mine.”

“Then why didn’t we use yours?” Varric grumped, “Vivienne will never let me live it down.”

“Tough,” Cassandra smiled at him. “You will survive, I expect. And your daughter looks beautiful.” Nadiya herself looked rather skeptical, but had finally managed to stop crying, her face still red.

“Just like her mother,” Varric finally grinned back. “Well done, babe.”

***

“I’ll go see about packing up your mother’s things, Mistress,” Orana said softly, leaving Hawke and Sebastian alone with the shelves of books that Hawke had barely touched in all her time living at Amell House, and what seemed like mountains of stuff to go through.

“Thank you, Orana, I'm sure Carver isn't going to want to have to do it.  And I... still can't bring myself to go in there.” Hawke sighed, overwhelmed at just the beginning of the job in front of her. “How did I get so much stuff?” she stressed. “I have no idea where I got that statue, though at least now I can get rid of that chewed floor mat in the entry. I can leave the furniture for Carver, but he’s not going to want,” she glanced at the title in her hand and blushed. “Nevermind,” she muttered and went to toss it into the ‘Discard‘ pile.

“What is it?” Sebastian plucked it out of her hand and burst out laughing at the title, “101 Uses for Phallic Tubers**? Where did you get this?”

“Isabela,” Hawke fumed. “That…” she tried to snatch it back. “We‘re throwing it out.”

“Oh no, this is definitely coming with us,” He laughed, and flipped it open at random. “Maker’s mercy, diagrams, even,” he teased. “Have you ever…”

“Of course not,” Hawke tried to grab it again. “Sebastian…” she sighed.

“Shame,” Sebastian raised an eyebrow and flipped the page. “Oh my, you were missing out,” he smirked, turning the book lengthwise. “Did you have any idea what you could do with Amrita Vein…”

“SEBASTIAN!” Hawke flung herself at him. “And you a former Brother,” she scolded, finally capturing the book again. “Andraste would be ashamed of you.”

“Bring it,” he wrapped his arms around her. “You never know…”

“I’m not interested in vegetables that way,” Hawke grinned when he kissed her neck. “Especially not now that I have something better on a regular basis.”

“Good to know I don’t have to compete with parsnips and oddly shaped potatoes,” Sebastian murmured. “I might get jealous. Starkhaven has a lot of good farmland along the river. I‘d have to keep you away from farmer‘s markets.”

“You definitely don’t need to be jealous of a vegetable,” Hawke assured him, but he pulled the book out of her hand and tossed it into one of the crates that were going to be shipped anyway. “Sebastian…”

He shrugged, “You never know,” he insisted. “Besides, it will be good for making you laugh. I have to keep you happy after all.” Hawke just moved on, her shoulders shaking against her will. “Hard in Hightown 2: Siege Harder,” he read next.

“Shit,” Hawke sighed. “Toss it. Even Varric is embarrassed by that one.” He flung it into the growing pile. “No wait,” she retrieved it. “Sell it,” she decided. “Someone will want to read the sequel after all, and it’s not trash.”

Sebastian took a big pile out of the lowest shelf. “You have the complete set of In Pursuit of Knowledge?” He looked impressed. “I thought you didn’t read anything more difficult than the Randy Dowager?”

“I don’t,” Hawke sighed. “I tried to read it. But it was just too hard, and Genetivi managed to make even his most interesting adventures seem so… dull. Varric recommended it, and I tried. Really. If you want it, pack it, otherwise, see if he wants a copy.” She moved on, “Oh, by Andraste's nipple rings, there's more of them?!” She handed him a stack of paper, overcome.

“More manifestos?” Sebastian sighed, grief-stricken. “Anders was very busy, wasn’t he?”

“Couldn’t afford to hire a printing press,” Hawke rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes threatening to leak. “He should have just asked Varric, but he was too proud, I suppose.” She placed the papers into the trash but then pulled just one out, and set it gently in the crate instead. “Maybe there’s something I can use in there with the College.”

“And what is this?” Sebastian’s eyebrows raised along with the book in his hands, and Hawke lunged for him again. “The Diary of Marian Hawke,” he waggled his eyebrows and opened it. “What treasures are found within?”

“Sebastian, that’s private,” Hawke whispered, and he closed the book without reading it.

“Very well,” he said softly. “I won’t read it. Just… is there anything about me in there?”

Hawke smirked at him, “Maybe,” she admitted. “If you look hard enough. Journaling is an effective way to put off demons, after all. But that‘s from before the Arishok,” she took the book. “The more recent one is probably upstairs in my chest, and if I remember correctly, you feature more heavily in that one.” She tossed the journal in the crate and straightened. “I’ll leave the decorations,” she decided. “We don’t need the Amell crest scattered all over your palace. It would clash horribly, in any case, even if I wanted to draw attention to my connections.”

“You should take something, besides books,” Sebastian recommended.

Hawke shrugged. “What would I take? I’m not attached to things. I couldn’t be - I’ve been running too long. I’ll take my mementos from Ferelden, they’ve been with me since before the Blight. My clothes here are old - I’ll donate them to the Chantry. I‘ll sell most of the cheap jewelry - it‘s not like I‘m going to wear it, from the list that your treasurer sent to you, but I‘ll keep Mother‘s.  Carver's not likely to want it, unless he actually manages to find a girl. I‘ll donate the money to the Chantry fund. I‘m sure they can use it.”

“Not the armor, though,” Sebastian insisted. “Don’t sell that.”

“Of course not,” she smiled. “Never that. We’ll mount it on a stand and put it on display or something. I‘ll need it to travel in, besides.”

“Or just keep it out so that you can use it when you need to,” Sebastian contradicted. “You’ll need to, Marian. You attract trouble…”

“Are you trouble?” Hawke leaned towards him, flirtatiously.

“Of course I am,” he smiled and kissed her over the stack of books still sitting on the floor. “What about the lute?”

“I never could play, so sell it,” Hawke made a face. “Mother insisted I try, but once I was old enough I gave it up. She tried to give me culture, in her defense.” She frowned, “Is that going to be a problem? Starkhaven is pretentious. I’m… not.”

“It will be difficult for them to adjust,” Sebastian admitted. “But I won’t let you change yourself, trying to fit in. You’re the one I love, you are the woman I’m marrying. So they can stuff it, as you apparently can do with certain varieties of rutabagas…”

Hawke laughed and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, leaning against the bookshelf. “Kiss me, Sebastian?”

“Of course,” and he leaned in and met her lips eagerly. “You know, your bed is just upstairs…”

“Orana is in Mother’s room!” Hawke protested.

“We could be quiet,” Sebastian whispered. “And the door locks… I could demonstrate what I think they were trying to show on page 87.” Hawke pulled him back in and kissed him more deeply, flushing him slightly with heat. “Or we could just be fast,” he finished, slightly dazed. “Your room is all the way up those stairs, after all.”

“Hmm,” Hawke appraised him. “I need to look in my wardrobe anyway,” she admitted. “So upstairs it is. We’ll finish with the books later. But apparently I need to keep you away from phallic tubers. That book has given you too many ideas, and you only had it for thirty seconds.”

“But you’re happy,” he said breathlessly.

“I am happy,” Hawke laughed. “Follow me?”

“Always,” he kissed her hand and she led him upstairs, only to have him stop at the window right outside her door. “Blessed Andraste,” he swore, “Doesn’t that man ever wear pants?! Smallclothes, at least would be something…”

“I always meant to get better curtains for that window,” Hawke laughed, and pulled him into her room. “Quit peeping, Sebastian.”

“How could you not look?!” Sebastian protested, “Marian…” he looked at her skeptically. “Never peeped, hmmm?”

“Not intentionally,” she blinked innocently. “And I assure you I have thick curtains on the windows in my room,” she laughed, and started to unbutton his practical shirt, her hand tracing down his chest. “I’ll even pull them, so they don’t peep back.” She waved her hand and the curtains closed, darkening the room. “Better?”

“Much,” Sebastian laughed and pulled her in towards his chest. “Thank you for preserving my modesty.”

“Least I can do, “I’ve never been a prude” Vael,” she laughed.

“Don’t make me go find a tuber,” he murmured in return, and backed her to the bed to the sound of her accompanying laughter.

***

They slept in her home that night, and the sweet sound of singing surrounded her from the moment she dropped into the Fade.

Far from being foggy and weak, the spirits - for there were definitely more than one of them by now - a multitude that Hawke couldn’t quite count populating her dreams - sang sweetly and in a strange harmony, to music that she couldn’t say she had ever heard awake, and yet sounded familiar.

A wolf was sitting in the midst of her dream and Hawke stared at him for quite a while before approaching cautiously. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I never thought to see such a chorus again.”

“It’s my pleasure, if I had anything to do with it,” Hawke said cautiously. “I’m not sure I did. You’ve seen this before?”

“It has been a very, very long time,” the wolf reminisced in a sad, but familiar voice. “And never here. I… wouldn’t have thought it possible here. But they bear the mark of your magic, and it is nice to be proven wrong.” The wolf tilted his head. “You do not recognize me?”

“You sound familiar,” Hawke shook her head. “I’ve met you before. But not in Kirkwall…”

The wolf laughed, and his eyes flashed. “We shared a… unique experience once.”

“Solas?” Hawke’s eyes went wide. “No. Not Solas. Merrill has told me stories - and Varric said in his letters - Fen‘Harel. You‘re… here?”

“I am a Somniari,” the wolf managed to bow and make it look more natural than awkward, “Are you familiar with the term?”

“A Dreamer,” she breathed. “Like Feynriel.”

“You know another,” the wolf braced his feet, almost aggressively. “Where is he?”

“In Tevinter, as far as I know,” Hawke said, shifting back defensively in an instant. “I sent him to Tevinter to learn to control his abilities when the local Dalish Keeper could not help. He was trapped in his nightmares, and I saved him from them. I couldn‘t help him otherwise.” The wolf closed his eyes in defeat, and then opened them with determination, flashing a blue that gave her a touch of alarm. “I didn’t have an option, other than sending him to be made Tranquil in a Circle. I… tried to save his life, and preserve his gift.”

“I understand,” the wolf said, and transformed into the man she recognized. “I should thank you for trying.” His head tilted. “You have given me a great gift, despite your unwitting mistakes. Do you realize how rare this,” and he nodded at the spirits, still singing their ethereal music, “is?”

“I have a hunch,” Hawke drawled dryly, and Solas chuckled. “Oh, so that’s why Varric calls you Chuckles,” she observed lamely, and he chuckled once more. “Will it help Kirkwall - having them on the other side of the Veil?” She asked, with some confusion. “I wasn’t sure if it was wise to encourage a spirit who wanted to be Hope… but it seemed better than the alternative.  Merrill said...”

“It started with just one?” Solas blinked at her blankly. “You are… formidable, Champion,” he finished. “But yes, the Veil here is thin… it will make more of a difference than you realize. Pleasant dreams help everyone,” he pointed out airily, and leaned in, his head tilted at almost a canine angle. “I wouldn’t have even known to look, except a… friend here reported something of the kind, and suggested that I explore this area of the Fade.”

“Merrill,” Hawke breathed softly. “So you are the one she’s been talking to.”

“Of course,” the man replied. “Again, I offer my thanks.” He straightened suddenly. “But the night is passing, and, perhaps, it’s time that you… wake up.”

Hawke sat up abruptly, accidentally pushing on Sebastian’s chest to get upright. “Well, shit,” she said softly. “That’s just fucking weird.”

“What?” Sebastian struggled his way to his elbows, “What’s happened?”

“I just had the craziest dream,” Hawke laughed absurdly. “That wasn’t a dream. Blessed Andraste on a piece of flatbread, I have to talk to Merrill. Maker’s Breath, Merrill, for a near shut in, you make the oddest friends.” She scrambled out the bed and pulled open her wardrobe, grabbing the first set of robes she found and pulling them around her impatiently. “Are you coming?”

“Now?” Sebastian shoved himself the rest of the way up. “I can’t let you go into the Alienage on your own, I suppose,” he shook his head in confusion. “What did you dream?”

Hawke stared at him, “I don’t even know how to tell you. Just… come with. I’ll explain there.”

***

“Of course I am,” Merrill shrugged easily. “He’s Fen’Harel, Hawke. He’s capable of returning all of Elvhenan to the way it used to be. And he’s not… precisely the way the old tales make him out.”

“So you are communicating with what you consider to be the last great hope for the Elven race,” Hawke said bluntly. “Even though…”

“He made the Veil, Hawke,” Merrill argued. “If he can make the Veil, he can pull it down, restore the Elvhen magics, our cities, our culture, our gods. Why would I think of doing anything else?”

“He could destroy the world, Merrill!”

“He won’t,” Merrill spoke confidently. “He’ll restore it.”

“Yours, perhaps,” Hawke countered, “But what happens to the rest of us?”

Merrill hesitated, “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I… he… hasn’t been forthcoming.” She wouldn’t meet her eyes. “But I have to try,” she firmed her lips and looked stubborn. “He’s in control of the Eluvians, Hawke! Everything the People have lost could be regained!”

Sebastian broke in at this minute, “So… Fen’Harel is real, and visiting your dreams, attracted by the choir of Hope that you, Marian, told me about before?” he addressed both mages. “He made the Veil, and he could pull down the Veil, and that will do what precisely?”

“What does the Chant say about the Veil?” Hawke asked pointedly. “I’m not a scholar, but I know a bit about the Fade, Sebastian.”

“It says the Maker made the Veil…” Sebastian sat back in the chair hard. “Sweet Andraste, Bride of the…” he grew pale. “He’s the…” He sunk his head into his hands. “There are no words. The Chantry will be torn apart from within.  Everything we think we know is...”

“Perhaps,” Hawke hedged. “We don’t actually know anything, do we? But if any part of the Chant is fact and not fabrication, and we know that at least parts of Silence is right, because of Corypheus, then…” her words trailed off. “Varric and Cassandra know, don’t they?”  She re-addressed Merrill, concerned.

“I suspect so,” Merrill admitted. “But they have left me alone.”

“They’re trusting you,” Hawke stared her down. “To make the right decision, Merrill.”

“I will always choose my People, Hawke,” Merrill assured her, chin outthrust.

“Who are your People, Merrill?” Sebastian asked softly. “The people that abandoned you for your choices or those that have sheltered you?” Merrill looked away and did not answer.

“I will always be your friend,” Hawke stood up, and before the elf could fend her off, embraced her. “Whatever you decide is right.”

“Thank you,” Merrill said softly. “I will ask. I’ll let Varric know what he says, if...” She pulled away. “Congratulations,” she offered weakly. “I don’t understand these human wedding traditions, but I’m assuming that being betrothed means that you’ve finally had sex, and that is worth celebrating,” she laughed shakily.

“Will you come for the wedding?” Hawke asked breezily, trying to lighten the moment. “It wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

Merrill blinked, “Would I be allowed to attend? The Dalish wouldn’t allow outsiders to see such a private ritual…” she pursed her lips, first looking stubborn and then elated. “Of course I’ll come. I’ll ask Aveline what I should wear,” she smiled in bliss. “I’ve never been to Starkhaven,” she nearly glowed. “I have missed traveling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So... I unilaterally decided that Nevarran was Ukrainian... Nadiya is the Ukrainian word for Hope.
> 
> **Um, yeah, all of these are books you find on Hawke's bookshelf. I couldn't resist having Sebastian find this one. So wrong...


	24. Leaving Home

“I’ve got it,” Sebastian slipped into Amell House holding a letter, his face shining in Hawke's general direction. “Divine Victoria’s holy writ, allowing mages to marry, and her personal letter with a dispensation for us in particular. Only one more step, Marian. It‘s coming together.”

Hawke snorted softly, and with some bitterness, “Oh, as if convincing your Grand Cleric and Chancellors that I’m in the best interest of Starkhaven is just a minor hiccup.”

“Have faith,” Sebastian traced her cheek with his thumb, pushing her hair back slightly. “We’ve come this far. Even if she won‘t perform the ceremony, someone will, I swear it.” He looked around, unflatteringly surprised. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”

There were piles of crates and boxes and chests everywhere, stacked haphazardly in any free corner, blocking out the greystone walls, now noticeably bare of any decorations. “Somewhat, thanks to Varric‘s hardworking employees,” Hawke sighed, exhausted. “Orana has decided to come with us, so some of the things are hers. She doesn’t know Carver well, so I’m not really surprised. Carver says he doesn’t want any of the Amell heraldry or heirlooms out, so they're going into storage in the basement, where no doubt they will be looted as soon as someone figures out a way past the Darktown rubble. I hope I locked the door. The furniture he is not so gracefully allowing to remain. Asshole,” she grumbled. “I wrote to Charade and asked if she wanted some of it, but she hasn’t written back. You can imagine what Gamlen said when I offered.”

“All too well,” Sebastian admitted. “So which crates go with us?”

Hawke lifted her chin at the medium sized chest and two skinny crates closest to the entry. “My things have been ready for days.”

“That’s it?”

“I told you I don't need… things. Most of those are jewelry and clothes, and the books you wanted, and a couple of staves that I didn‘t want to part with.” Hawke frowned slightly. “Orana wanted to take her kitchen things, but I told her she would need to see what she needed, and then I would pitch in once we got there. She’s a little worried there won’t be a place for her, Sebastian.” Hawke's attitude suggested that Orana wasn't the only one.

“She’ll be your personal maid,” Sebastian sighed, and swept his hair back. “She’ll be a lot less lonely there. Lots of people to talk to.”

“She doesn’t make friends easily,” Hawke fretted. “She’s been here for years, taking care of the house on her own, and still only speaks to Varric, Aveline and Merrill. You have to be three times as gentle with her as any other person.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “She likes to cook. I’ll write to the housekeeper, and arrange lessons. We’ll make sure she meets people. I’m glad you’ll have someone with you.”

“So am I.” Hawke sighed, and looked around her at the largely empty home. “So am I.” She walked around the room, picking up a random sword that was waiting for an auction house to come pick it up. “I’ll be ready to go in about two days, I think. Varric is going to bring the proceeds of the auction to the wedding, and Carver won‘t be arriving for at least another month. He says he‘s going to travel to Starkhaven with Varric, though, so he doesn‘t run into misunderstandings of the Templar variety.”

“Sensible of him, if surprising,” Sebastian mused and looked at her more closely, circles under her eyes and lines on her forehead. “Are you all right?  You look... tired.”

Hawke rubbed the bridge of her nose, “I never thought I’d be coming back here just to leave again. Permanently, this time. I don’t know what to expect.” She tried to explain and threw up her hands. “I’m not having regrets, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said testily.

“I see,” Sebastian crossed to her quickly. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there. Any uncertainty, we face together. You’ll never be alone, truly alone, again.”

Hawke made herself meet his eyes. “I want to believe that.”

“How can I convince you?”

Hawke laughed, nervous and high, “Never leave me in the first place?”

“Barring time magic being a possibility, then,” Sebastian sighed, full of regrets of his own.

“Keep me with you,” Hawke confessed, staring at the floor. “When I’m with you, I don’t doubt. It’s only when I’m by myself. I start to wonder if you’re ever coming back, if you’ve lied, if you’ve left me behind…” she twisted her hands together and hid her face in her hands. “It’s then I have trouble trusting…”

“Right,” Sebastian’s face cleared. “You need me.  The perfect excuse to not have to face Varric’s criticisms of my additions to the memorial, or dealing with your Grand Cleric’s hurt feelings that I want to be married at home rather than here. You will let Varric’s people finish the job of packing. Would you rather stay here or at the Keep? Do you want to see Varric as much as possible before we leave?”

Hawke stared at him, “You have things to do! We can’t just… hide. You can‘t just shirk your duties.”

“Watch me,” Sebastian dared her. “You’re more important. I can deal with Varric far easier long distance. He can happily ignore my letters about minor issues, and if there’s anything he needs to know, I’ll have you write it to him. Already our cities’ will be communicating better,” he laughed and she smiled, relaxing just a little. “I wrote to him for months while he was with the Inquisition, and the bastard never wrote back after the first one. I know he got my letters.”

“What?” Hawke stared, open mouthed. “You wrote to him? He said…” she tilted her head back. “Varric,” she criticized, and then laughed outright. “You have to love him or kill him.”

“In his defense, I wasn’t writing about you, precisely,” Sebastian admitted uncomfortably and rather defensively. “Though I danced around the topic of your whereabouts, I never came right out and asked. I figured you knew where I was, and if you wanted… you didn‘t write to me either.”

“Ass,” Hawke accused. “You… prick. I had to be the one to come begging, did I? You couldn’t just say, ‘I miss her, Varric, tell me where she is so that I can…’” she fisted her hands at her sides. “I ought to…”

“Marry me?” Sebastian said softly. “You ought to marry me, and remind me every day that I wasted years of my short life being angry and bitter and vindictive…”

“And stupid,” Hawke added, her lips twitching, unable to decide between anger and amusement. “Don’t forget the stupid.”

“It would be the ultimate revenge,” Sebastian proposed, “and might make you happy, besides.”

“How?” Hawke was blunt but her shoulders relaxed. “Fine. I signed that damn contract…”

“And so did I…” he reminded her. “This definitely falls under the last offer. And, love, you didn’t come begging. You came demanding. Marian Hawke doesn‘t beg.  Never will, I hope.”

“I’ll show you demands,” Hawke thrust her chin in the air. “I’m going upstairs, and you’re coming with me. I’m going to take a nap, and you are going to stay and hold me until I forget how much I hate you.” Unaccountably, she laughed, closing her eyes. “Already I’m starting to forget.” She swayed a little bit on her feet.

Alarmed, Sebastian wrapped his arm around her waist. “How long have you been working? Have you been trying to do it all with magic?”

“All day,” Hawke mumbled. “And it was either magic or get a ladder. I hate ladders. Why mother insisted on hanging everything so high up… why anyone needs such high ceilings I don‘t understand.”

“I think a nap is exactly what you need,” Sebastian poked his head into the next room. “Orana, Marian’s laying down for a bit. She’s run herself ragged.”

“Stupid rolling ‘r’s,” Hawke grumbled aloud. “A single letter shouldn’t be allowed to be so… pretty.”

“I wondered,” Orana tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t think it was my place… but she should rest, Your Highness. I will be quiet.”

“Don’t bother,” Hawke waved dismissively. “I have a feeling that as soon as I get horizontal, I will be out like a light. Noise or not.” She let herself be steered towards the stairs and up them, eyes already half shut with fatigue.

Hawke’s room was already dark, the curtains drawn, and nearly empty except for the larger furnishings. There was a fire in the grate, however, and after Hawke laid down, Sebastian stoked it thoroughly, and fed it a new log before coming over and laying down to pull her up against him. Hawke hummed at the simple contact, and curled around him protectively and possessively.

“I’m supposed to be holding you,” Sebastian murmured into her already sleeping ear. “But you won’t ever stop trying to protect everyone, will you, Marian?” He relaxed then, and drifted off himself, wishing he could join her in the Fade.

***

A few days later, the morning sun had managed to scale the Sundermount and shine down on where Hawke and Varric stared at each other in front of the Keep. “I’ll be seeing you around then,” Varric managed.

“Yeah, right,” Hawke twisted her foot in her boots. “Varric, I…”

“I know,” he told her. “Same here. Don’t take any shit from him. Remember you can always come home.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra’s disgusted noise echoed down the steps and off the stone walls. “Honestly.” She thrust Nadiya into Aveline’s arms, and the two blinked at each other before Nadiya smiled wide and lifted a fist to bop Aveline on her chin, making her laugh.

“You’re joining the Guard,” Aveline murmured, and flipped her around to see her mother shove Varric towards Hawke impatiently. “You’re just the sort of person Kirkwall needs, who will speak up to the Captain.”

“Just hug already,” Cassandra ordered. “She’s leaving, and you won’t see her for a few months. You will miss her…” she glared at Varric and then at Hawke, “and you will miss him, and the rest of us as well. Quit being so…” she ran out of words at that point.

“So damn heroic,” Aveline piped up. “You’re acting like you’re headed to your own funeral, not your wedding, Hawke. We’re happy for you, even if Sebastian is a tit. Mind you, we hear anything - anything at all - and I‘m coming to get you, army or no army.”

Hawke wiped an eye and nearly missed Varric’s lunging hug. “Varric, I didn’t know you cared,” she laughed through her tears.

“Damn it, Hawke…” she wrapped her arms around him too. “I’m with Aveline on this one.” He pulled back and thrust out a hand to Sebastian. “I can have you killed,” he threatened. “So make her happy.”

“I swear I will do my best,” Sebastian took his hand and shook it once. “I’ll write.”

“I’ll ignore you,” Varric bantered back, and they nodded at each other in mutual understanding and suspicion. “See you in a couple months.”

Hawke stepped cautiously towards the Seeker and then embraced her awkwardly, Cassandra returning it even more hesitantly. “Take care of him,” Hawke whispered.

“I will,” Cassandra wavered. “When he lets me. You know what he’s like.” They turned remarkably similar looks of criticism onto Varric who managed to look innocent.

Hawke scaled the steps to Aveline and hugged her and the baby together. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“Always,” Aveline breathed. “Remember your manners.”

Hawke laughed outright. “Aveline…”

“I know,” she sighed and pulled back. “But it made you laugh. You need to laugh more. You never used to be so…” Aveline shook her head. “You know what I mean.  Be happy, Hawke.”

“I know.” Hawke pecked a kiss on Nadiya’s little head. “Be good, Squirt, and I’ll be around,” she promised. “I have stories about your Papa that you can use for blackmail.” The baby stared at her with round eyes and an outthrust lip. “I’m not going to miss you growing up,” she promised herself and then stepped down to meet Sebastian again. “Let’s get going, I guess,” she finished, staring down at the rest of Kirkwall far beneath her. “We’ve got a ways to go.”

***

The road to Starkhaven was longer than the road from Starkhaven, even without the demons cluttering her mind. Hawke’s mind this time whirred with nervousness and anxiety, but they were all her own - not any demon‘s projected fear.

“It will be all right,” Sebastian assured her.

“I made a very bad impression the last time I was here,” Hawke contradicted. “Your entire Council hates me, with some justification, based on how I behaved. Let’s list my qualifications as your prospective bride, shall we? I’m from Kirkwall, I’m a fucking apostate mage, and I‘m taking away their chance at marrying you off to someone that could be far more useful than the nearly illegitimate child of a low rate noble and another apostate mage. The fact that I’m the Champion of what is now a third rate city-state isn’t going to be enough considering…”

“That you are winsome, funny, radiant, intelligent and can kick all their asses into the Fade,” Sebastian reminded her. “If they bother you, I’ll suggest they fight it out with you. It’s not without precedence.” He sounded stern and determined and his lips were firm. “Treason has long been overcome with a duel against a champion, and if they are against you, they are against me. There isn‘t a match for your skills in all of Starkhaven.”

“I wish Varric could have come,” Hawke stressed. “I know that’s silly, he needs to be with his family, and Nadiya is colicky, but… I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so… alone.” They dismounted their horses and approached the gates, letting them be led away. “Don’t leave me?” She whispered.

“Of course I won‘t,” Sebastian murmured back. “You’re with me, even if they try to pull me into governing immediately upon my return. We need to make several public announcements over the next few days, and you‘ll need to be with me for all of it.”

Hawke nodded, still worried. “Name good things about Starkhaven?” she asked. “Besides the whiskey.”

“Hmm, we have lovely music, excellent food,” Sebastian bragged. “Our culture is unique to all of Thedas. Our Chantry is breathtaking - second only to the Cathedral in Val Royeaux, since Kirkwall‘s…” he stopped speaking with a sigh.

“You can say it,” Hawke reached out for his hand. “It’s my fault, after all.”

“It was no one’s fault and everyone‘s,” Sebastian took her hand, and they entered the gates together, to the sound of trumpets and a slowly raised flag with the Vael crest. “You are guilty of nothing but trust. Trust is not a sin, and guilt is not a virtue.” He turned to her. “Welcome home, Marian. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“That’s your job,” Marian tried to joke. “But I will try,” she whispered.  "I promise I will try."

 


	25. Glory and Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from Don Henley's "For My Wedding". Strongly encourage listening to this song! Iduna suggested it, and she was dead on. Even though I had the chapter entirely written already, this was exactly the tone I was trying to go for. Thank you, Iduna! You're a treasure.
> 
> "I dream and my dreams are all glory and light  
> That's what I wanted for my life  
> And if it hasn't always been that way  
> I can dream, and I can pray  
> On my wedding day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself wait in order to post this on a Tuesday. It was important.

Two months later, Hawke was in an antechamber of the Chantry in Starkhaven trying to remember how to breathe. Carver was scowling against a wall in his Templar dress armor, trying to act like he wasn’t happy for her, and watching Merrill a little too closely where she was trying to pin flowers in her hair so that they would stay put and cursing by the Dread Wolf when they wouldn‘t. She slapped her hand over her mouth immediately afterward, looking pale. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered to nothing. Cassandra made a disgusted noise, but looked slightly worried for just a moment before shaking her head and moving on.

Hawke smoothed her dress nervously - a full red skirt that tapered into yellow, with one bare shoulder and arm to show her tattoo brazenly, and a bodice of golden flames that licked against her collarbones - for the dozenth time. Cassandra cradled her daughter against her slightly too tight dress armor, practically draped with a large blanket lest Nadiya spit up unexpectedly, as she was wont to do. “You look fine,” Aveline assured her, settling a golden and red veil into her hair. “Wise choice to avoid white. Definitely not your color. You‘d be upstaged by the groom.”

“He’s not wearing white today. And I must be insane,” Hawke said bluntly, grabbing Aveline by the arm - not wearing armor for once. “This is never going to work. They’re all going to run out screaming as soon as I get started. Whose blighted idea was this, again?”

“Yours,” Aveline and Merrill both said, one impatient and the other whimsically. Aveline gently detached herself from her grasping hand with a sigh.

“And at least a portion of the people attending are mages themselves,” Cassandra told her practically. “They will be able to stop it if things get out of hand. I will stop it if things get out of hand, for that matter.” Hawke nodded, still one step away from panicking.

Carver rolled his eyes. “I could always Silence you,” he threatened.

“Thanks for nothing,” Hawke narrowed her eyes at him. “If you Silence me during my own wedding, I’ll cast Gravitic Ring on your bed when I recover and trap you there until next week.”

“Behave yourself, or I will not let you join the Inquisition,” Cassandra ordered Carver imperiously.

“Didn’t say I wanted to,” he flashed back immaturely. “Giving up lyrium sounds like a pain in the…”

“Grow up, Carver,” Hawke managed, while Aveline stifled a snigger. “Cassandra, where is Varric?!”  His absence was just another reason to be nervous - and there were plenty of those to go on with.

“Here,” her friend came in without knocking, all dressed up with a crown stuck jauntily at an angle on his head, as if mocking its own presence on such a head. “Sure you want Junior to escort you, Hawke? I could do the honors, if he’s being a tit.” Varric reached up and took Nadiya from Cassandra, blanket and all. She smiled a wide grin at her father, eerily similar to his own, and then was immediately distracted by her own hand, gumming it intently with slightly crossed eyes.

“He’s doing it, even if he is being a tit,” Hawke insisted. “It’s some horrible political thing, my Templar brother escorting me… and,” she cast her eyes at Carver, who once again was watching Merrill, “he is my only family left.”

“Other than Charade and Gamlen, who looks marginally less disreputable than usual,” Aveline told her. “Charade looks like she’s attended these sort of functions before?”  Her friend's attempt at distraction were largely unsuccessful, but Hawke appreciated them nonetheless.

Hawke shrugged, “I know she was with the Inquisition for a while, as a Red Jenny, but I barely…” her rambling comments were interrupted at that point by a rapping on the door, and Cassandra opened it to admit Sebastian, eyes wide in appreciation and excitement that made him look far younger than his true years. “Are we ready?” Hawke asked, taking in his appearance, dark grey and black kilt in place with a black velvet jacket over a crisp white shirt, and the Starkhaven bow at his back, and she cussed mentally.  He looked far too like a Prince for comfort, but a damn fine one, nonetheless.

“We are,” he smiled at her, nearly breathless, and everyone left the room, Aveline grabbing Carver by the wrist and towing him out when he didn’t move right away. “They’re all confused about why they are sitting in a dark Chantry for a wedding, but they’ll understand soon enough.” He stepped towards her, glowing like a coal. “No second thoughts?”

“Not about us,” Hawke assured him, focusing on his knees. “You look amazing,” she assured him, and then looked up letting her fear show, “This fucking wedding though… whose idea was this again?”

“Yours,” he reminded her. “And it’s a wonderful plan, so take a deep breath and come find me in a minute?” He kissed her cheek gently. “I have a final addition,” he admitted, and took out a small pot, twisting off the lid to show her a pool of red face paint, and instantly Hawke felt a little better.  Not much, but a little. “May I?"

“Go ahead,” she urged, and he dipped a finger inside, and traced the line over the bridge of her nose gently.

“Now you’re beautiful,” he told her reverently.

“You have the arrows?  I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she shuddered. “So many things could go wrong… they’ll be calling for the reestablishment of the Starkhaven circle by this time tomorrow. And for the Maker‘s sake, your Circle _burned down_! I‘m the worst mage you could possibly marry, Sebastian!”

“By this time tomorrow you will be the social superior of any Enchanter in Thedas,” her Prince replied smugly. “And you’ll be free to tell everyone exactly what you think about the remaining Loyalists and openly support any mage you want. I, for one, am hoping you will do exactly that.”

Hawke took a deep shuddering breath, trying to find a balance. “Right. And I’ll be married to you. That makes this disaster worth it. Probably?”

“We’re a couple blood mages and an abomination short of a disaster, my Champion,” Sebastian laughed, apparently unbothered by their wedding day being classified as a possible disaster. She relaxed a little more.  “And that’s if we count your brother as the corrupt Templar, and Merrill as a blood mage.” He kissed her gently, and then pulled her closer. “Now, put the paint on me,” he urged her.

“And mar that pretty face? Never,” she teased. “I’m the one going into battle. You‘re just getting married.”

“Your battles are mine,” he told her, more stubborn than she could ever remember. “So put the paint on, or I’ll do it.” She looked at him and relented, appreciating the gesture, and traced the line over his nose just as gently, kissing him afterward. “Now let’s give them a show, shall we?”  His eyebrows raised, nearly gleeful in anticipation.

Hawke nodded, oddly calmed to see him so excited, and remembering why they were here, smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you out there. Don’t forget to flank them,” she teased, half seriously. “If they charge, retreat. We don’t have Aveline to stand in between us - she’s not wearing full armor - and them, and Cassandra is busy with Nadiya. I forbade Varric to bring Seeker into the Chantry, so he's probably just got a handful of throwing knives and a grenade or four, so our arsenal for covering a retreat is limited. I doubt Carver will jump in this time to save my life. He‘s used up all his brotherly affection for the Dragon Age. We‘ll all be dead by the time it builds back up again. But remember - I won't let them hurt you.  If it all goes tits up, I'll meet you outside of town.”

He shook his head, in denial of her worries, and kissed her hand, "As my Champion wishes," he smiled, and left with a squeeze of her fingers.

Carver re-entered the room as Sebastian left, barely allowing him the room to pass.  Obviously sulking, he sullenly offered her his arm, and she took it, recognizing that it was time. “Sure about this?”

“Somewhat?”  Hawke's heart beat entirely too loud.

He nodded, “Sounds like you. If they come for you, I’ll delay them. I scoped it out, and the Chantry has a rear exit to the left of the altar. The Prince is on his own, though.” Hawke squeezed his arm but didn’t reply. “These aren’t your usual tactics, Sister. You always leave yourself a way out.”

“I have to stop running, Carver.  Today is the day the Hawkes stop running because of magic. I‘m doing it for both of us.”  She didn't expect him to be grateful - it was Carver after all - and she wasn't disappointed when all he did was sigh.

“Well, at least this Chantry isn’t likely to explode, right?” Hawke looked at him, shocked. “Oh, come on,” he argued, “It was a joke!  You and Varric aren't the only ones who can crack a joke.”

Hawke grinned at him, all her nerves jangling. “You do realize what I’m about to do, right?”

“All too well,” he actually laughed smugly. “Show ‘em up, high and mighty Starkhaven. They‘re all assholes, the ones I‘ve met. I’m with you.”

“All right, then stand just behind me, so that I don’t accidentally singe you,” she instructed in a hiss, as the doors swung open with a gentle nudge of her magic. Together they took five steps forward into the darkness and Carver stepped back to fall behind her.

Hawke looked around the dark Chantry, saying a quick prayer to whoever looked out for apostate mages making questionable life choices, and then pulled, twin fireballs lighting in her hands, and sent them swirling around her head with a subtle force spell to light her way - the only light in the still dark sanctuary. She raised her hands and all the candles in every shrine burst into flame in an instant, searing retinas and making the onlookers gasp in wonder and finally look at the entrance where she stood, head high, as if she had just stepped out of the Fade itself. She drew two more balls of fire, walking slowly and deliberately up the center of the Chantry, face forward, but mind focused on her task. She pushed the first at the closest incense burner, and the other at the torch on the opposite wall - just enough to raise some scented smoke and a little more light.

Nobody ran. It was already a victory.  Her smile and her steps grew more confident.

She lit another burner and another torch with her flames, aimed precisely, making her way down with a determined, but happy smile, burning brighter the closer she came to the front altar. Halfway down the aisle, she saw Sebastian standing tall, still looking a little struck at her appearance, and nodded in their silent signal. He drew the Starkhaven bow and nocked a single arrow from a nearly empty quiver, the end coated with pitch. She concentrated, and shot a flame directly at it, relaxing when the flame took on the first attempt. He let it burn for just a moment, joy behind the reflected fire in his eyes, before turning and firing it into the brazier at the feet of Andraste far above them both, lighting it in a moment of sparks, the flames building up and illuminating the statue. He turned back to face her proudly, swinging the bow back to his shoulder, as she continued to make her way down, lighting more incense burners and torches until the entire Chantry was a mass of scented smoke and golden light, step by flaming step. She was the most brilliant flame of all, in her torch of a dress, with the exception of the golden statue of Andraste herself, and Carver was openly chuckling as he reclaimed her arm to finish the escort to the altar. “You are so asking for it,” he murmured, nodding to his uncle and cousin, looking disapproving and giddy with amusement in turn.  "Maker's Breath, look at Gamlen.  He's going to have a stroke."

Hawke merely smiled triumphantly, her eyes on Sebastian, completely unafraid and still waiting, despite everything, for her.  Maybe this might work out, after all.  The hope rose in her chest, threatening to choke her.

They stopped just before the steps, and Carver handed her over without a comment, and then trailed behind them up the steps towards the waiting Grand Cleric.

The Grand Cleric looked shocked, if slightly impressed, at the display, but managed to keep her mind on the task in front of her, taking the cloth laid across the book in front of her and asking Carver if he was giving the bride away.

“As if I could get that lucky,” Carver muttered just loud enough for her and Sebastian to hear, but louder, managed, “I am, Your Reverence." But he kissed her cheek, nodded to Sebastian, looking skeptical, and Hawke smiled at him despite herself, as he stepped back to find Merrill in the front row, who was managing to contain her many questions about Chantry wedding services to piercing whispers.

The cleric bid them hold each other’s hands, and draped the cloth, embroidered with the mark of Starkhaven over them. Their vows were exchanged, with only a few mutters from the Starkhaven side of the audience when Sebastian swore to protect her from her enemies. “That’s going to be trouble,” Hawke whispered nervously, as he slid a ring onto her sweating hand, and held it tightly to stop her shaking.

“It’s traditional,” he whispered back smugly. “Vaels always promise it, and I wasn’t going to leave it out, whatever people think or say. Your enemies are mine, Marian.”

“You may kiss the bride,” the Grand Cleric proclaimed, all too soon.  Marian barely remembered the rest of the ceremony.

“You hear that?” Sebastian smirked a little, eyes far too innocent. “She says you can kiss me.”

“Then hold on,” Hawke laughed, almost relaxing. “Sparks?” Her eyes dared him to say yes.

“Please,” he asked, lifting his eyebrows, and pulled her in slightly, so that she could feel the coolness of his new wedding band against her warm skin. “But let’s keep the force magic for the bedroom, eh? Keep it appropriate?” He whispered in her ear, slightly agitated.

“No promises,” Hawke murmured against his cheek, and turning, closed her mouth over his. She barely held back, letting sparks fly from her tongue into his mouth, making him shake just a little with the pins and needles feeling, and then let up to breathe a little before she heated him up purposefully, making him moan out loud in front of the full Chantry. In the front row, Aveline put her head in her hand, Donnic patting her back, resigned to the inevitability, while Varric's shoulders shook silently.

“Marian,” Sebastian pulled away reluctantly, obviously affected, panting and shaking before all their guests. “That was not…that was not fair.”

“Just a taste,” she teased. “We have an entire wedding dinner to get through before they’ll let us get away, after all. Don‘t want you to forget what you have waiting for you.” She swept her eyelashes up demurely.

“Andraste preserve me,” Sebastian choked, taking her arm and her hand in his. “As if I could forget. Let’s get out of here, shall we? The dinner will last hours. Sooner we leave, the sooner I can get you upstairs, where we can both be bloody inappropriate with no witnesses.” Hawke could have sworn that she heard the Grand Cleric chuckle behind her, but quickly decided that she was imagining things. Starkhaven’s Grand Cleric would never laugh at the Prince.  It was impossible.

“I was only waiting for you to suggest it,” Hawke was the picture perfect bride at that moment, all gentle blushes and smiles at their guests, her hisses only loud enough to travel to the man standing next to her. “And I’ll show you inappropriate. Just wait…”

“I present to you,” the Grand Cleric announced, interrupting her quiet boasts, “The Prince of Starkhaven, Sebastian Vael, and the Champion of Kirkwall, the Princess-Consort of Starkhaven, Marian Hawke. May the Maker and the Holy Andraste bless and keep them both.” The citizens of Starkhaven all knelt, and waited for them to descend the stairs and leave the Chantry, nearly as one.

The Kirkwallers merely clapped, cheered and wolf-whistled, while the Viscount smirked at the people on the other side of the aisle, shaking his head at their deference, and bouncing his daughter to keep her quiet.

Hawke gathered up her skirts and raised her chin, smiling at Varric in the front row, who smiled back, tilting his head at the people across the aisle with raised eyebrows and a disbelieving look. Hawke managed a wink and a straight face, and then turned to Sebastian, her face softening as he drew her closer to pull her quickly down the aisle and out the Chantry doors.

The couple passed together under the Arbor Blessing outside the Chantry and paused to kiss again, drawn together like magnets, despite the crowd of people waiting to greet them that couldn’t get into the Chantry for the service. “They don’t seem to mind…” Hawke whispered as Sebastian pulled away when she tried to heat him up again with a muffled curse, just loud enough to be heard over the cheers.

“They won’t,” Sebastian told her, breathing hard. “It’s the nobles we have to worry about. You’ll be popular enough with the common people, Marian. Relax, and wave.”

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered nervously, but waved and took a small bunch of flowers from a child and thanked her. The child concentrated and turned them into ice. “Well, that’s quite a trick!” Hawke laughed, shocked that she was so comfortable using the magic openly. “I’m no good with ice. Can you teach me that trick?” She winked, and Sebastian chuckled, tugging at her slightly to regain her attention. “I’ll see you around,” she waved at the girl and climbed into the waiting carriage.

“Oh, my love,” Sebastian murmured as he climbed up behind her and kissed her again before sitting down next to her, too quickly for her to prepare more sparks or heat. “What are you thinking, heating me up like that? I could have embarrassed both of us. You know what that does to me.”

“Just an impulse. And better you than me embarrassing both of us. They‘ll forgive you.  Are you sure we can’t run away? I’m dreading this dinner more than the ceremony. I‘m going to use the wrong fork, offer to flambé someone‘s brandy soaked dessert with magic, and then declare to the Praetor of Ansburg that I think the Loyalists are cowards who fear their own shadows. They‘ll kick me out of Starkhaven by midnight.”

“Not a chance, I’m afraid,” he said with regret. “I rather wish we could skip to the end myself. It’s going to be a long, long evening. Not for any of the reasons you mentioned, but for the tedium. Nothing more exciting than you is going to happen for the entire night. Toasts, presentation of gifts, a few dances to break up the monotony…”

“Varric says I’m not allowed to skip to the end,” Hawke recited dutifully. “At least he’ll be at the dinner, I suppose.” She fidgeted. “They’re never going to like me,” she said softly, admitting her fear.

“And I am just fine with that,” Sebastian assured her. “We’ll know who our enemies are, this way. I will protect you, Marian.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Never doubt that. I will reassure you as many times as is necessary. No one is going to take you away from me, not now that I have you.” Hawke‘s heart calmed again, and for the moment at least, she believed.  Instead of replying, she leaned in and met him halfway, letting herself get carried away.  By the time they reached the palace a few minutes later, Sebastian wasn't the only one shaking and cursing.  "Damn it, Marian," Sebastian laughed, climbing out and handing her down.  "Try to behave yourself?"

An hour later, after an endless procession of mostly faceless nobles and acquaintances in the entirely too white and too elaborate ballroom, Varric cornered her. “Wouldn’t even hyphenate, huh?”

“He didn’t want me to,” Hawke admitted in the presence of her friend. “I wouldn’t have minded, but I’ve been Hawke for a very long time now. One of the points of the public display was not hiding my magic, after all. He didn‘t want me to hide behind his name either.” She caught her husband’s eye from across the room where he was talking to Carver with a patient look on his face. “I should rescue him from my baby brother.”  She nodded in response to several Chancellors who wished her well politely, if distantly.

“Don’t,” Varric advised. “Carver’s grown up a bit, I think. If not, it won't hurt either of them to put up with each other for a few minutes. And I want to know what was with all that Champion of Kirkwall nonsense? Aren’t you giving up the title?”

“Fuck, no,” Hawke took a glass of fizzy cider and tried not to wince at her slip, glancing guiltily at the nobles that were standing all too close.  But none of them reacted, so she rolled her shoulders slightly and tried to relax. “I’ll be the Champion until you take the title away to give it to someone else. Just let me know when and if you need me. Did you expect me to give it up in favor of being some sort of Princess here?  Me? They want me to plan parties and keep ladies in waiting. As if they were a type of fluffy lapdog.  You should know Varric, that I’d rather die, except for the pretty clothes. I mean, this dress, right?! And the jewelry. Maker's Breath, Varric, some of the stuff that came to me is gorgeous - I only wish I could show you - and probably would pay for most of Lowtown, if I could sell it. But the politics are killing me. It took three weeks for them to agree to let me marry him in the Chantry, even though we had dispensation from Divine Victoria, and a copy of her holy writ allowing mages to marry. This place needs a serious makeover in its way of thinking. We‘re hoping the Inquisitor will help if she agrees to visit.  Sebastian finally sucked up his pride and wrote their ambassador a letter.  They did send a wedding gift in response, which was surprising enough.”

Varric smirked, “A little advice, free of charge? If Asta shows up, keep her away from the Grand Cleric. Asta doesn‘t make the best impression on Chantry Mothers. And this one… hates her, especially after the Exalted Council. But make sure you write and let me know exactly Choir Boy‘s reaction when he realizes that he was the one who gave her her first fighting lessons. I would pay good money to see that.” He paused, and nodded at the glass in her hand. “Still not drinking?”

“Not yet,” she admitted cheerfully. “I probably would have missed at least one of the burners if I had been. That would have been a disaster.  I… don’t miss it as much, though it's caused a few misunderstandings with…” she caught Sebastian’s eye again, his longing to be closer to her obvious from where he was now speaking politely to what looked like some dignitaries from Markham. “I may need to go over there, soon,” she admitted with a small smile at her new husband.

“He doesn’t need rescuing,” Varric protested. “Choir Boy is all grown up. He’ll be fine.”

“No, but I want to be near him,” Hawke smiled at her dearest friend. “Excuse me, Varric. But this… this wasn‘t bad for a Tuesday, was it? At least not yet?”

“Best Tuesday ever,“ Varric agreed. “Don’t let me get in the way,” he laughed and nudged her with an elbow. “Just... we set the date, Hawke. Six months out, as soon as the floors are laid. Less fireballs and more armor, just the way the Seeker wants it.”

“We’ll be there,” Hawke promised. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Varric pulled himself away, grabbed two glasses and found Cassandra, sitting down and talking animatedly to some Starkhaven knight, Nadiya passed out on her shoulder, cushioned by the blanket. Hawke saw her smile softly at Varric and accept the glass, blushing a mottled red at whatever words he whispered in her ear.

Hawke continued to watch them for a few moments before Sebastian slid his arm around her waist overtly, and pulled her close. "Marian, you outshine every other woman here in that dress. I cannot look away," he murmured, "Will you dance with me?"

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” she sighed, but grinned her acceptance. “Tell me that it’s… simple things? I‘m not going to have to dance like an Orlesian, am I?” She leaned against him, enjoying the freedom to do so, and ignoring the voices in her head that told her to keep her distance in public.

“I’ll lead,” he laughed, “For once anyway. It’s traditional.”

Hawke made a face, “I’m getting a little sick of those words. But I like to dance,” she admitted. "With luck, I won't make a fool of both of us."

“Are you happy?” He sounded honestly concerned. "I could..."

She twitched her mouth, touched and interrupted, “Yes,” she allowed, with a smile. “Now that I’m with you. I can’t spend all my days glued to your side, though, Sebastian.  I have to learn to navigate your court without you at some point.”

“We can try,” he chuckled, and nodded in response to a sign from the musicians. “Here we go,” and he pulled away to bow low. “May I have this dance, milady Champion?”

Hawke placed her hand in his, and he led her out to the floor, and a surprising simple jig, played very slowly, swelled from the dais that held the musicians. She blinked at him, surprised. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“I told you it was traditional,” he took her other hand to lead her into position. “Do you know it?”

“I do…” she said softly. “I thought it was Fereldan.”

“Good,” Sebastian smiled. “Let’s give them another show, then, shall we?” She nodded and swallowed, standing straight, her hands clasped in his, one over their heads, and the other between them. They circled each other and then the music sped up a bit, making her smile.

“I want to take these shoes off! Would that be considered a social faux pas in pretentious Starkhaven?”

“Just do it!” Sebastian laughed, enjoying her enthusiasm, and she kicked them off quickly, in order to move more efficiently, spinning around him gracefully, and coming back a little closer than necessary. “Very good,” he laughed again, eyes shining. “The musicians were prepared to play it slowly, but you‘re challenging them.” They were speeding up again, and Hawke’s eyes widened, and grew crafty as she planned to beat them at their own game. “You’ve done this before?”

“Many, many times, but it's been quite a while,” she admitted, and the music slowed for a moment, while Sebastian pulled her around to face the other direction and then they both spun back around to face each other, his hands at her hips now, and hers beneath his. She was breathing heavily, with exertion and good humor. “I’m happy,” she offered like a gift, and his face lit up. “Not a bad beginning?”

“The best,” Sebastian said, and then spun her several times in a row never missing a step. Hawke realized with a shock that other couples had joined them. “You’re making friends,” he laughed at her blush. “I’ve never seen someone not born here do this so well. You're full of surprises, Marian. They’ll play a true wedding reel and a few others as well. Are you up for those?”

“You haven’t seen enough Fereldans dance, if you have to ask,” Hawke grinned openly and spun around, and performed the steps backwards, holding his hands high, causing a slight reaction in the crowd watching. “I doubt the approval will last past tomorrow,” she openly giggled, tilting her head back to look at him, “but it’s nice that it’s helping tonight.”

“Starkhaven’s not so bad,” Sebastian assured her gently, his accent thickening on purpose, guiding her through the closing steps, back and facing him now. “We do make the best whiskey, have the best dances, and pick the most lovely wives,” he told her softly in her ear.

“Your men aren’t bad either,” Hawke countered mockingly, and then on the closing strain of the music, kissed him on impulse. He kissed her back eagerly and she sent a single spark into his lower lip, taunting him. He rose to the challenge and pulled her against him more tightly, deepening the kiss and more than one couple in the room - and not just Kirkwallers - clapped and laughed before they pulled away from each other even more reluctantly than before. “None of that,” Hawke teased, breathless. “We have a dinner to get through, Prince Vael.”

“You’re making it very, very difficult to be Prince,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“That’s my job,” Hawke laughed, and kissed him again, raising the color in his cheeks this time before spinning away to make up the form of the reel, stopping only to slip into her shoes with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is NSFW, almost completely. Skip it if you don't want it. You won't be missing plot.
> 
> This entire chapter was inspired by the codex entry that tells us that mages are only allowed to be lightbearers in the Chantry - that was literally the only way they could serve. The symbolism is so thick in this chapter you'll trip over it.
> 
> Almost done now. Couple more chapters (depending on where I break them) and an epilogue left.
> 
> And for the record, I love prompts. If anyone has any, whether a song, or something they'd like to see happen, whether in Asta's world or not, send it over.


	26. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost completely NSFW, other than a humorous look at the aftermath at the very end. Skip it if you like - you aren't missing plot.

The manners of the dinner, the enforced mingling, and the dancing combined to equal exhaustion for an apostate mage turned royalty. Hawke glanced back down the wide stairs they had climbed to make sure that they weren’t being observed any longer, now that most of the guests had departed, and then slipped her feet out of the restrictive shoes with a sigh of relief.

“Are you going to rub these for me?” She asked, sweeping her eyes sideways towards the man at her side, “That seems like the sort of thing a husband should do. I haven’t danced like that in years, and I don’t think I’ve ever done it sober.”

“If you like,” Sebastian managed, opening the door to the room they would share at her insistence from now on, whatever the household thought was _traditional_ , and pausing politely to let her proceed him. Hawke picked up her skirts and swept through with more than a little mock pretense, tossing her shoes in the general direction of the dressing room, and leaning back against the door as if to keep the rest of the world away. “I am supposed to keep you happy, after all. If that involves foot rubs, I will perform. Especially when you get sore feet dancing with me. You are… enchanting.” Sebastian was shaking his head, whether in confusion or awe, she could not say.

Hawke huffed a disbelieving laugh of her own. “Maker’s Breath, I actually married you, didn’t I? I’m your _wife_. I’m the woman-that-fucks-the-Prince of Starkhaven. Pretty sure that’s what ‘Princess-consort’ actually means, whatever the people with manners claim. I must be insane.” She tried to run her fingers through her hair, and remembered the veil at a touch, detaching the pins and tossing it, too, in the general direction of the adjacent dressing room, knowing that she would be getting silent lectures from Orana when she picked up after her. Oh well, not like she would be wearing it ever again. “As for the dancing, I didn’t learn that in Kirkwall. That would be my Fereldan upbringing, as horrified as your councilors would be to learn it. I'll be sure to mention it at an importune time. But at least I didn’t slap your ass as I went by in the reels, or do the more… suggestive portions.” She chuckled softly, letting her head fall back against the door. “Aveline should be proud. Apparently even I know how to be appropriate once in a while.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow went up. “I’ll need you to show me these steps. I suspect that my dancing master skipped those when I was learning. I learned a lot of fancy dances involving swords, instead. Perhaps those might impress you?” He bent down and kissed her bare shoulder with gentle lips. “As for being insane, you managed to convince a few of my Chancellors that I haven’t taken leave of my senses, and that I am not under the thrall of a desire demon. You were perfect, Marian. Maker, I love you,” He cupped the back of her head, kissing her, a long minute of building momentum that promised more to come.

“Yes, well, my improved reputation is not going to last,” she managed when the kiss stopped and they were both panting. “I have every intention of scandalizing every last person left in this building before morning, with your enthusiastic participation. If they can’t hear us by the time we’re finished, we're not trying hard enough. In the meantime, tell me that three women aren’t about to interrupt us in order to prepare me for the wedding night?” She pulled his shirt loose from beneath his jacket and ran suddenly too warm fingers up his side, trailing rivers of fire.

“I told them I’d take care of it,” Sebastian murmured. “Will you touch me with fire again, my living flame?”

Hawke smiled at him alluringly, and then withdrew her hands to turn her back. “First, I need you to help me out of this… costume, given the blessed lack of attendants. And then… I’ll think about turning up the heat, ‘Bastian.” She flashed her eyes over her bare shoulder, and eagerly, Sebastian loosened her laces. Hawke pushed the belled sleeve off her other shoulder and allowed the gown to fall free in a loose puddle around her feet, leaving her bare save stockings and smallclothes. Sevastian made a small noise of approval, pulled her back towards him and kissed her neck, holding one breast and stroking it with his thumb. “But what about you?” She spun to face him and backed towards the massive bed, conveniently turned down, stripping out of her smallclothes as she went, and tossing them at him. "I'm sure I'm not the only one with plans."

Nimbly, he caught them, and dropped them carelessly, his eyes only for her. She rolled a stocking down and threw it at him, but he ignored its path entirely, watching her hands perform the same task on the other instead, merely dropping the stocking and purposefully trailing her fingers up the inside of her leg to her thigh. “I have been thinking about something,” he admitted, his eyes a little hazy.

Hawke swept her eyes back up towards him, sliding back towards the pillows. “Truly? Do I need to hear your confession, Brother Sebastian?” She braced her arms forward on her legs, not attempting to conceal nakedness, but determined to relax in what would be her home, in her room, with her husband.

“It’s only been since early this morning, not enough time to need to confess,” he laughed a little, letting his eyes wander.

“Plenty of time to work up some impure thoughts,” Hawke contradicted. “I’ve been working on mine for days. Ever since your people insisted I couldn’t see you for a few days, and the guests started arriving and demanding attention like so many Mabari puppies. Even more, now,” she cocked an eyebrow at his waist. “I heartily approve of the fuzzy belt pouch, by the way. You should wear fur more often, Sebastian. It suits you. Now, take it off.” She bit her lip with a grin and met his eyes with a dare behind them. "All of it."

“Marian, I’m beginning to think you have a thing about me and belts.” He pulled off his jacket and left it in a heap, and tugged his stock loose, and then off, never breaking contact with her eyes, still gleaming and calculating, and openly ogling now.

“Definitely,” she agreed. Sebastian climbed up on the bed, pulled his shirt over his head, fell back to his knees, and stroked her leg, the briefest of touches running up her calf, following the same path she had left earlier. She countered by leaning in far too closely, still avoiding contact, and unbuckling his belt, letting it fall away. “The only purpose a belt serves on you is so that I can remove it. You might as well learn this now, or spend the rest of your life with me pulling belts off you and losing them on purpose.” She dragged her eyes back to his, from where he was stroking her upper thigh with tight, barely controlled desire. “You want me," she whispered bluntly, wanting him to admit it after a long evening of being mostly appropriate. "But how do you want me, ‘Bastian?" Her teasing nickname for him made him shudder and the hand still on her thigh tighten. "Anything you like. On all fours, spread wide? Underneath, fucking me into this far too soft bed? Up on top and riding you until I scream? Something less... traditional?”

“I want you in my mouth and crying out my name,” Sebastian said without hesitation, breathing heavily. “Tonight, you’re having your turn first, Marian.”

“Hmmm,” Hawke looked skeptical, but took his hands, stretching his fingers out and lacing hers between. “We can give it a shot, I guess. But I won’t be able to do much for you from there.”

“You won’t have to,” Sebastian promised, pulling his eyes back to hers with difficulty. “No magic necessary.”

“All right,” she smiled and let go of his hand, and laid down. Her eyes fell to his kilt, and she smiled, wanting to tease him once more before giving in to what they both wanted. “But first, Sebastian, I have to ask. I’ve been wondering all evening. All those years ago you gave Anders a hard time for wearing robes. And now, I find out that the traditional formal dress of Starkhaven is a skirt?”

Sebastian knelt between her legs and kissed her center gently, running his fingers up her thigh again. “I believe that I said ‘always wear robes’,” Sebastian corrected. “I don’t wear a kilt often. And I believe that he answered, ‘Not when I’m naked‘,” he added suggestively, trying to find his focus between her thighs, ghosting his fingers over her.

“Still, you‘re a bit of a hypocrite, Vael,” Hawke shrugged, and kept going. “What do you have on under your skirt?”

“Just the traditional,” Hawke made a face, only to have it disappear with the rest of the sentence, “meaning, nothing at all,” Sebastian laughed when her mouth formed a small approving ‘oh’. “I thought you liked it?” He tried to distract her again, running his tongue along her seam swiftly, but Hawke wasn’t deterred.

“I do, even more so, now, but I was surprised. You wear it well, whatever it‘s called. You have fabulous calves and adorable knees.  Can I borrow it sometime?”

Sebastian huffed in frustration and looked up at her from between her legs. “Marian Hawke, are you going to shut it and let me make love to you?”

Hawke looked at him, mouth twisting with humor. “I think that if either of us closes anything it rather defeats the point of what you are trying to do.”

“Fine, I’m coming up there,” Sebastian warned, and surged upwards to join her. “But I will not be dissuaded, Marian. You want me to tell you and take what I want, that is evident, and this is what I want. I want to see you writhing under my mouth and hands.” He bent to her lips again, only to be stopped with two fingers.

“Leave the kilt on,” she whispered before he kissed her fingers with a slightly open mouth, his tongue flicking at them with just a touch of boldness.

“Whatever you like,” Sebastian swore, eyes darkening with the mental picture. She let the fingers fall away and he joined her mouth, sweeping her up and away, finally focused on him and him alone. Tracing the muscles on his back and shoulders, she threaded heat through his veins and he groaned, pressing her down beneath him as the sensation spread. He moved his way down her body, letting his mouth do the convincing over breasts and belly, and at the same time tracing his hand up her thigh to her core, and parting her gently, began to stroke, gathering her arousal around him.

“No, whatever you like,” Hawke managed, and shut her eyes as his mouth reached her clit, and swirled around it almost lazily. “You’re in charge. I’m just along for the ride tonight, 'Bastian."

“First you,” Sebastian murmured, “and then, I’ll show you what else I’ve been thinking about,” he promised.

A single digit slid inside her slowly, and almost tortuously began to move, in tandem with his mouth on her, a pressing, rubbing friction of sensation that made her shudder, and move reflexively to cup his head, fingers tight. He smiled against her and moved down, letting his nose rub against her instead, delving into her with what was proving to be a far more clever tongue than she had bargained for.

A little worried, she moved her hand away from his head, twisting her hands into the sheets, and he stopped abruptly. “Hands in my hair, Marian,” he ordered.

“No,” Hawke refused. “If I lose control I could…”

Sebastian shook his head, irritated, “You won’t hurt me, and I will not let your magic come between us.” He grabbed her hand and placed it in his hair, curling her fingers around it. “You won’t hurt me.” He stared her down for a moment, and then bent back to his teasing work with a slight groan as she let a small trace of heat trail down from the top of his head, loosening his muscles again. She reached her other hand to her breast and worked it gently. "So sweet,” he whispered after a moment, “so warm, I could drink you forever.” His eyes watched her hand stoke herself and tried to match his mouth to her movements.

"'Bastian..." Hawke breathed, "I'm going to need more." He stretched her, adding a second finger and she arched against him impatiently, pushing his face between her legs but remaining silent and tense.

“Don’t hold back, Marian,” he demanded. “I want to hear you calling for me.”

“I need…” she panted. “’Bastian, it won’t be enough, I need…” He sucked against her and added a third finger, moving faster as she arched off the bed in response.

He refused to answer in words, pressing his advantage and stretching her still more with his tongue, sliding between her nerves and entrance. He moved back up and sucked on her lightly, and the resulting whine of impatience made him smile again. “Come on, Hawke,” he murmured against her, pressing deep inside, curling his fingers, and then, all at once, almost pulled a spot deep inside, as if he were firing a single arrow.

She bent up, her back forming a shape like the bows he favored and released, twanging deep inside, a bowstring vibrating, sending little zaps of static electricity into his scalp. “’Bastian,” she was riding his hand and mouth now, all control lost. “Maker, Sebastian!” An eternity passed with her gyrations as he drew her down, kissing her even more gently, as she shook against him, and slowed, still panting. She stared at him then, her blue eyes meeting his over her pelvis. “Sebastian Vael...”

“You said my hands gave you ideas,” his voice had a note of triumph in it. “That’s all I could figure you…” She pulled him up to her lips, reaching her hand under the kilt and stroking him, a demand for more. “Sweet Andraste, Marian,” he started to shake, moving himself along her hand. “Tell me it’s my turn?”

“Not until you tell me how you want me,” she demanded.

“On your knees,” he panted. “Marian… I’m…” Hawke released him immediately, and smirking, rolled over, propping herself up.

“I won’t be able to do much from here, either,” she warned, all mischief and hooded bright blue eyes. “You’re on your own, ‘Bastian.”

“Hardly,” he groaned, meeting at her eyes over her shoulder. He placed his kilt over her back and reached around her hip to stroke her underneath, while she shivered, caught between the soft prickle of the wool and the slick friction between her legs and continuing aftershocks. “Definitely not alone.” He moved against her, his cock jumping slightly with its own eagerness.

She whimpered at the touches, “’Bastian, I want…”

“So do I,” he breathed, and slid deep inside. “Holy Maker,” he groaned, and held still, trying to be gentle.

“Damn it, Sebastian, _move_ ,” Hawke ordered instead, pressing back against him, and reaching deep beneath, burying her face in the bed, her hand found his thigh, nearly tickling fingers finding their way, and then grabbed his balls, cupping him gently, and stroked him underneath - echoing his touch, but with a single line of warmth following her finger.

He lost it entirely, a breathy, brief moan escaping his throat, his hips in counterpoint to her heart, feeling the deepest point of her, where he hit with every thrust. “’Bastian,” she whined and arched her back. “More…”

His thighs shook at the sound of her voice, and when she released a small trace of heat into him underneath, he tightened and shot into her with a decisive force, pleading praises only to her. “Don’t stop… yes… Hawke!”

With the call of her name she dropped her hand to the sheets and cried out, blackening them with a shout and a puff of smoke. Instantly she tried to recoil, but she was trapped beneath him while he recovered. “Shit,” she whispered, shaking and staring at the smoking fabric, and trying without success to summon a little ice - unable to gather her thoughts enough to think clearly enough to channel her mana in a direction that did not come naturally to her. "Sebastian..."

Sebastian lifted his head from her back, “What? What happened?” Noting the marks, he gathered her against him, and tilted them both sideways to lay her down, away from the scorching. “Not a problem. Lots of sheets here. They’ll be gone in the morning. Worth it, having you react to _me_ that way,” he soothed.

“I’m sorry,” she tried, upset at her loss of control.

“No, no guilt,” Sebastian pulled her back to his chest harder, crossing his arm under her breasts. “Worth it, I said. Maker, Hawke, that was…” he laughed hoarsely. “Don’t give a damn about the sheets.”

Hawke rolled over, with some confusion, and he shuddered as she disappeared from around him. “Why aren’t you scared? I could do that to you, Sebastian! I almost did…”

He shook his head and pushed her hair out of her eyes to see her better, seeing the fear in her eyes. “You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t. I’m not scared. I’m not scared of anything but losing you, and running out of arrows,” he murmured, and kissed her, until her mouth started to suggest she believed him. He dragged her fisted hand up to kiss her fingertips, and pressed it flat against his chest, leaving a small trace of black on his lips. “We’ll get more sheets, if we have to,” he promised. “Whatever makes you feel better. But Hawke, you won’t hurt me.” He chuckled. “I had no idea you wanted me to call you Hawke so badly. Is that what set you off?”

Hawke blushed, “I suppose I missed it. You always used to…”

“I will do so again,” he whispered. “Since you like it so much better than Marian. I should warn you though - if you continue to react like that in bed, I‘m inclined to pride. You‘re going to have to take steps before I become conceited.”

“Before you become conceited?” Hawke teased, still upset. “Since when are you not?” She leaned her head under his chin. “In this case, your pride is justified,” she whispered. “The last time I actually burnt something… I didn‘t hurt them, I swear.”

“It’s all right,” Sebastian reminded her, refusing to let her relive the memory. “I’m not running, Hawke, and neither are you.” He laughed and she relaxed at last, realizing he believed her, and that he trusted her, no matter how impossible that seemed. “The staff is going to have a great time with this, I‘m sure. We‘ll be hearing whispers about our wedding night until we both die of old age.”

Hawke smacked his ass, smirking when he grunted in surprise. “Serves you right. Now you have to change the bed yourself. I‘m not letting anyone else in here tonight, and I‘m not sleeping on the floor.”

“What’s the point of being Prince if I have to change my own sheets?” Sebastian complained, and Hawke smacked him again. “Fine,” he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll change the sheets. With pride.” But instead of getting up, he wrapped an arm around to hold her closer. “In a while. It can wait.” He rolled her over on top of him. “I’ve never liked that rug by the fire. What do I have to do to get you to set that aflame?”

Hawke burst out laughing, and leaned in. “All you had to do was ask. I‘ll burn anything you like.”

***

The next morning dawned chilly and bright, gleaming on the changed sheets, the ruined ones contained in a wicker basket, an absolutely torched rug, gleaming with frost and a small drifting of what looked like snow, rolled up and set aside, and the whole room smelling ever so slightly of smoke and ozone, despite the open windows. Their limbs, smudged with sooty fingerprints, were tangled over the covers still folded at the foot of the bed. “Maker’s Breath,” Hawke groaned. “Not morning. Morning means… stuff. Not ready for… stuff.”

“It’s not morning,” Sebastian supplied, reaching for the topmost cover to pull it over both of them, fumbling with his eyes still mostly shut. “One of us is going to have to get better about pulling the curtains, Hawke. That or we’ll have to become morning people.”

“I’d rather die,” Hawke groaned and twisted herself further into his body, channeling a little mana into warming them both up. “Early is for cowards. I‘m not a coward.” She snuggled beneath his chin smugly. “And neither are you.”  She raised a hand and cracked an eye and drew the curtains with magic and a little more effort than it should have taken normally.

Sebastian stroked her backside in reply, “You’re better than a bed warmer,” he mumbled affectionately before falling gently back asleep, warm and comfortable.

“Sweet,” Hawke muttered against his chest.  "So sweet."

The maids gently closed the door after retrieving the basket and rug and contained their titters and amiable shock behind their hands as they snuck away.

The housekeeper stared at the blackened edges of the uneven holes in the sheets and the ruined rug in disbelief five minutes later, dumbfounded. “Well, they’ll be needing a bath then,” she finally managed practically. “See it’s done, Chrissy. Lay the fire but don’t start it, if you can do it without waking them up. From the looks of it, they can manage that for themselves from now on.” She chuckled to herself and shrugged, trying to take it in stride. “A large breakfast, too,” she ordered, and the maids giggled again. “Go on, get started,” she urged, smiling. “It’s a good beginning though,” she told herself. “Nice that they have a chance. Mildred, see that they always have extra sheets on hand. From the looks of it, they’ll be needing them. Now back to work, all of you,” she waved them on and beckoned gently to the new girl in the corner. “Orana, did you know that this,” she indicated the damage to the linens, “was possible?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the elven maid curtseyed. “That is… not with my mistress, but in Tevinter…”

“I see,” the housekeeper nodded in thought. “I’ll need to pick your brain,” she announced. “I have no idea what to expect with a mage as a major part of the household. Things will be different, from here on out, and you’re the only one who can help us all adjust.”

Orana fidgeted, ever so slightly, “It’s not that different, ma’am…” but she stood up a little straighter. “You’re going to need to keep coffee on hand, though. My mistress needs a lot of coffee in the mornings.”

The housekeeper grabbed a piece of parchment, ink, quill and her teacup, balancing them like a professional and sitting down on a high stool at the worktable in the middle of the room. “Right. No time like the present. We’ll head down to the market together, if necessary.  I need to replace that rug in any case.” She shook her head. “I knew his Highness having a wife would mean some changes, but this is…” she laughed all at once. “Good for them,” she repeated. “Everyone deserves a little happiness. Wouldn’t have thought our Sebastian was the sort to…” she shrugged again, still amused. “Well, that’s their business. Have a seat, Orana, my lass, pour yourself a cup and let me know what to expect about our new lady.”

"Of course, ma'am," Orana agreed, and moved to obey. 


	27. A March to the Altar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the last chapter and the epilogue. And also, for those of you who were curious, the rough draft of the chapter where Nadiya was a boy. Extremely rough, so keep that in mind.
> 
> You didn't think I was actually going to finish this without hitching Varric and Cass, did you? Oh ye of little faith. ;)

Cassandra was a mess. “I should have worn a dress,” she muttered, trying to fasten her dress armor, which was still a little tight, especially around the breastplate. “Nadiya, I’m weaning you,” she announced in her daughter's general direction, “Maybe then these… breasts will go back to normal,” she fumed irritably, saying the body part like a curse word.

“It looks fine, Cassandra,” Asta assured her with a smile. “You look lovely.  And deadly,” she amended quickly, before she caused offense.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, but managed to fasten the last strap - the armor did fit, if just barely. “I cannot believe I’m doing this. What is the _point_?”

Cullen breezed into the room, only to be met with double glares from Aveline and Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” he said in reflex, confronted with the formidable women, one in a state of extreme agitation and the other all too sensitive to the mood of the other. “I was supposed to let you know they’re ready.”

Aveline relaxed. “Good,” she said crisply. “We should go, then.” She picked up her shield - the lone honor guard that Cassandra had submitted to instead of having traditional attendants, much to Bran’s disapproval.  Varric had insisted that Hawke would be his only witness. “Try to remember to breathe, Seeker, and don‘t lock your knees.”

“I cannot believe that you have done this _twice_ ,” Cassandra stressed. “What if he doesn’t come? What if he’s…”

Asta bounced Nadiya - her charge for the wedding - and the baby laughed and fisted her hands in her hair, making her wince instead of reply.

“He’s out there,” Cullen reassured her, chuckling. “Nearly as nervous as you, and for exactly the same reason.” He detached the baby’s fingers from his wife’s hair gently.

“He thinks…” Cassandra stared at him blankly. “He thinks I’m not coming?” She grabbed her sword belt and buckled it on with a new determination. “Let’s go,” she glared. “I have a few things to say to that… dwarf.” And she marched out of the chamber into the foyer of the nearly completed Chantry, gleaming with newness and suspiciously white.

Cullen and Asta took their seats with Nadiya, who was starting to fuss about being apart from her parents.  Cullen swung her up to sit on his forearm, facing forward, and let her chew on his gloved knuckle, ignoring the slobber that resulted valiantly.

Aveline made her way down, with her swinging easy step, nodding with a serious, yet satisfied glance at Donnic, and then stood at parade rest, at the side of the altar facing Varric.  "Where is she?" Varric hissed at her, but Aveline only frowned and inclined her head towards the Chantry entrance.

Cassandra stepped to the open doors and reddened self-consciously, taking an involuntary step back as the entire assembly swiveled their heads to see her.  But a moment later she threw her head up and strode up the aisle, glaring at her would-be husband until he was in range. “How dare you,” she hissed. “Did you really think I would… ever…  Varric, I...” she visibly trembled.

Varric chuckled and took her fisted hand, turning it over to hold it easier. “You look beautiful, Cass.  Thanks for showing up.  That's... new.”  He smiled at her, happier than she could ever remember seeing him.

Naturally, she eyed him suspiciously, and turned to the Grand Cleric, who, used to the odd couple’s strange expressions of affection after over a year of experience, was stifling her own responses. “Let’s get this over with,” Cassandra blustered, loud and clear, to the amusement of everyone in the Chantry.

“As you wish,” the Grand Cleric managed to keep a straight face. “You first, Seeker Pentaghast.”

Cassandra thrust up her chin, determined to get through this without breaking down, “Varric,” her voice was crisp. “I never expected to find this. Not at my age. And not with you, of all people.  You have given me so much, your trust, your love, your child, and a home. I haven't earned any of them.  I…” Her face crumpled and her voice broke. “I haven’t had a family to speak of since Anthony died, and you’ve given me that and more. I can barely remember how lonely I was before I met you. I only hope that for the rest of my life, you'll let me try to repay you, even half as much.”

Varric squeezed her hand and they just looked at each other for a moment, both overcome. The Grand Cleric had to prompt him. “Viscount Tethras?”

“Cassandra, when you came into my life, I was frightened,” Varric chuckled with the admission. “I thought you were out for my blood, and for Hawke’s, and I was prepared to do anything in my power to spare her your interrogations. You should know, that for the rest of my life and yours, I offer you all my truth, all my stories, and all my allegiance. You are my Seeker, my love, and my muse. You inspire me in every way.  But all that is nothing compared to the gift of yourself.  In all my life, there will be nothing more precious than you and our daughter, and I hope you realize that.”

Tears were running down Cassandra’s face now as well, and she audibly sniffled, as Aveline pulled out a handkerchief for her use. “Thank you,” she muttered stiffly, and wiped her eyes and nose, before taking a deep breath. “I promise before the Maker and the Holy Andraste that I will love this man forever,” she said with military precision, if a bit stuffily, and accepted the ring from the Grand Cleric to slide it up over his knuckle.

“Seriously, Cass? Swords and Shields? That’s what you picked for an engraving?”

Cassandra glared at him, irritated at the question, “Yes,” she argued, “It is lovely, and the shields are Pentaghast and Tethras heraldry."

Varric shrugged, “All right,” he took her hand, and slid the corresponding ring on her slender hand, holding it gently, shaking a little himself, however cocky he was trying to look. “I swear by the Maker and the Holy Andraste, that I will love you forever,” he said directly to Cassandra, who choked and had to resort to her hankie again.

“By the power invested in me by the Divine Victoria and the Holy Chantry,” the Grand Cleric rang out, not without a note of triumph at finally dragging the couple to the altar, “I am more than pleased to present Viscount Varric and Seeker Cassandra Tethraghast.” The couple turned and stared at her and she struggled to overcome her mistake. “That is…”

“Too late!” Hawke called out, and nearly everyone in the Chantry laughed, a certain qunari and Red Jenny in the back row among the loudest. “Honestly, hyphenating those long-tailed names was giving everyone a tongue cramp,” she complained. “You’re Tethraghasts, plain and simple. Get over it.”

Cassandra’s mouth twitched and opened to start a protest, but Varric beat her to the punch. “Done!” he announced. “Drinks on me at the Hanged Man for everyone in Kirkwall. Except you, Hawke,” he qualified at Cassandra‘s warning glance. “You’re needed at the Keep for the reception,” he grumbled. “Along with me, and my…” he grinned and pulled Cassandra down to his level, “wife. And a few other friends.”  His eyes centered on her mouth and he started to bend towards her.

Cassandra frowned at him, pulling back slightly, “The Grand Cleric has not said that you can kiss me yet.”

“True, I skipped that part, in my eagerness to make it official,” the Grand Cleric, a trifle young for her exalted position, cleared her throat. “You may kiss the bride,” she told Varric with open amusement.

“Now you’re talking,” immediately he finished pulling her down and kissed her thoroughly, Cassandra blushing a mottled red when he cupped the back of her head to keep going, but burying her hands under his hair to meet him halfway all the same.

Most of the people in the Chantry just stared, Cullen averting his eyes with a blush, as they kept going and going long past politeness, until Hawke started clapping pointedly.  She began slowly but increased in speed, others joining in until the entire audience was part of thunderous applause ringing to the rafters. Varric finally broke off with a smirk and Cassandra whacked him on the shoulder. “You liked it,” he grinned at her rakishly, and she blushed again, unable to deny the essential truth or her happiness. “How about it, Cass? Wanna go to a party? I‘ll buy you a drink.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra replied, smiling happily. “I suppose. Shall we relieve Cullen of the burden of our daughter first?”

Varric tilted his head around her and looked at Cullen, happily allowing the child to bite on his knuckle and barely wincing when a sliver of a tooth pierced the thin fabric of his glove. “Nah, he’s good,” Varric winked. “I think he needs the practice,” he admitted, eying Asta with a practiced eye.

“No,” Cassandra contradicted in surprise. “No!” She stared at the Inquisitor and shook her head firmly.  "Definitely not."

Varric raised his eyebrow, “Wanna bet? Five sovereigns say they announce it by the end of Guardian. Happy Birthday, Curly.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes in calculation, doing the math in her head. “You’re on, dwarf.”

Hawke piped up behind them. “Ten says they announce it by Firstday. I saw the Inquisitor with Nadiya and babies are contagious. Why do you think I‘m not holding her? Not going to happen.”

Varric grinned, watching her meet her Prince's eyes and smile at him, “I'll take that bet.  Both of them.  Besides, Hawke, I know you’re a Princess now, all fancy and proper, but you know that you can’t just gamble away the entire Vael fortune, right? Your whole city will be ruled by paupers by the end of next year, with your luck. Learn a life lesson from your Uncle Gamlen, will you?”

“It’s my money to lose!” Hawke snickered at her friend. “I did get the Bone Pit up and running again, after all. I’m not giving you anything else from Starkhaven, Varric.” Aveline rolled her eyes and left to find Donnic, the Chantry slowly emptying out, as the married couple and half the wedding party argued, long since given up waiting for them to do what was expected. “You don’t deserve my help,” she teased, “you ungrateful lout.”

“Wouldn’t want it anyway,” bantered Varric.

“Oh yeah?” Hawke collected her husband, waiting far too patiently, with a peck on his cheek and an overt pinch on his ass that made Cassandra color on Sebastian's behalf. “Where did all this white marble tile come from then? Ansburg? Tantervale?”

“It was a donation,” Varric scowled as the copper dropped, “…Anonymous donation.” Sebastian winked at him, and left the Chantry with his wife, both laughing louder than was appropriate for the location or occasion. “Damn it, Choir Boy! Take it back!” Varric yelled after him. “I don’t want… Cass…” he complained when she tugged him back into order.

“Be gracious,” his wife advised him. “Thanks to his donation, I actually married you. It would have been years before Kirkwall could have afforded this much stone. And you owe me another two silvers, because he’s generous.” Varric dug into his pocket and clinked two coins into her hands.

“Worst bet I’ve ever taken in my life,” he grumbled.

“Stop betting against me then,” Cassandra twisted her lips upwards in victory. “Now, let’s go home.” She squeezed his hand and they left the Chantry dead last, both smiling as if they had won a major battle.

 ***

 

The ‘reception’ at the Keep was the oddest party that Bran could ever remember occurring in all his time as Seneschal.

There was a raucous Wicked Grace party going on in the Study, the former Knight-Commander staying as far away from the room as possible when he realized what they intended to play, despite his wife‘s urging for him to join in and the pirate‘s similar encouragement. The Champion was currently waging what looked like her entire income for the year against the Ambassador of the Inquisition. Bran had taken a good look at her cards, and she looked to win, as the Ambassador was either bluffing or one of them was cheating.

But knowing the Champion, she had probably cheated. He stayed only long enough to confirm that everyone had plenty to eat and drink, and watch the Inquisitor and Viscount fold after taking a single look at the Ambassador before continuing on his rounds. He had duties today, whatever had occurred.

In the newly outfitted library, a wedding gift for his new Viscountess, not that she was ever going to consent to being called that in public or private, an enthusiastic argument was occurring about the best metal for blades between the bride and Guard Captain, while that… blood mage told Dalish stories to the baby and the elven heir of the Magister. Shocking, but the alternative, he had been informed by the new lady of the Keep, was that he become a nanny in addition to the myriad of other duties he already had to perform. He shuddered, remembering, and offered filled glasses to the two combatants, turned down by both, though the Guard Captain’s husband took one, before entering the argument with a fine counterpoint. A good man, if a trifle… common.

He shook his head, only to discover the Divine donning her hat in the adjoining room, having managed to attend the wedding after all, if only in disguise. She would be traveling to Rivain, he had been told, hoping to quell some of the still querulous elements there, angry at what had been done to their Circle and their Seers.

Well, it had been a tragedy, he couldn’t deny it. But he ignored her presence, as he was no doubt intended to, and continued on, to discover that… qunari and the Tevinter mage writhing against each other in the dining room. He closed the door silently and let them get on with it, making a mental note to change the table cloth later. At least the food was in the ballroom, set up buffet style, as the Viscount insisted on informality today. A good deal more work for him. That was probably why he had insisted on such a thing.

He hesitated at the entrance to the ballroom, but entered anyway when all he heard was background music and polite conversation. Now this… this was more like the sort of party that should follow a wedding of high rank. Sure, that tattooed elf was in the midst of it, but he, at least, had company manners, unlike the Champion or the pirate. Fenris was conversing very nicely indeed with the Prince of Starkhaven, and Bran offered his tray to both of them in approval, and then the Grand Cleric who took one eagerly before going to meet the Divine Victoria. This Grand Cleric was far too young for her position, he reflected. Giddy, inexperienced, and he mourned the loss of Elthina all over again. Such a dignified character, in comparison.

“You miss her,” that strange young man focused on him for a moment while he passed. “But the new will learn. Even she was young once, after all.” Bran blinked and shook his head. “Sorry,” the man apologized. “I’m still learning. You didn’t mean to be overheard. You might want to check the state of the canapés, though. I believe Dane got into them when Cullen wasn’t looking.” He nodded seriously and went to stand against the wall next to the bard, nodding his head in time to the music.

The bard at least was doing what she was expected to do. Thank the Maker. But that blond elf that was supposed to be the Left Hand of the Divine… he glanced at her sideways, and tasted the punch, sighing. Of course she had tampered with it. But it was only alcohol, at least for now. He pulled the maid restocking the table aside, “Warn the Champion not to drink the punch,” he told her quietly, and the maid curtseyed and made her way back to the study quickly.

Now, the Right Hand, now there was a person that could be depended on to behave well. She was discussing the state of the Circles with a detached air, as if she couldn’t be bothered, with a group of mages from the Inquisition, taking a glass with a regal nod, but continuing with no interruption to her argument at all. He merely hoped she would stay away from the Champion. That was a fight waiting to happen, and he had witnessed several fights against the Champion in his life. More than his fair share.

The Champion’s brother and that Warden Rainier were talking lowly about this and that… but at least Carver wasn’t making a pest of himself. Bran allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. The whole party could be going far, far worse, given the guest list, and he made his way out of the ballroom and back towards the study.

The Ambassador shoved away from the table with a pout. “I thought you were bluffing.”

“I don’t bluff,” the Champion lied outright, sweeping in her winnings, while the Inquisitor stood, and made her way out, a winning smile on her face. “Not against you, at least, Ambassador. I’ve been thoroughly warned.”

The Ambassador looked narrowly at the Viscount. “Hmm,” was all she said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Excuse me, I wished to speak to the Divine and her Right Hand, and should offer my greetings to your husband, before we meet tomorrow.” She rose imperially, and Bran sighed in admiration.

“In the ballroom,” he informed her graciously. Shame that his son had married in the last year. The man who married the Ambassador would be fortunate indeed.

“Thank you,” she graced him with a smile. “It’s a lovely party, Seneschal Bran. You are to be commended for accommodating such a wide variety of guests.”

“Another game?” Varric prompted Isabela and the Champion.

“I think I’ve earned enough,” Hawke laughed, and shoved a portion of her winnings in his direction. “Thanks for the help. Wedding present?”

“My pleasure,” he agreed, and took the coins. “Would have been better to strip her, but Curly’s not around, so it wouldn’t be the same.” He glanced around, presumably looking for the Inquisitor and her husband. “Well, shit, they’re both missing. Again. Damn it, if they’re in one of the spare rooms…” Bran slumped, hoping he wouldn’t ask him to confirm the situation, but the Viscount just laughed easily. “Well, it’s no skin off my nose,” the Viscount shrugged. “Let them have their fun. They’ll be stuck in negotiations with you and Princeling tomorrow anyway. Promise you’ll at least try not to make Curly upset, Hawke?”

“I’ve already promised Sebastian,” she sighed, sweeping the gold into a handy bag and handing it to the Sensechal. “Bran, can you put this in our room?”

“Gladly,” he replied, meaning anything but. “Viscount Tethras, I would recommend avoiding the dining room for the time being. A couple of your… guests…”

“Oh for crying out loud,” Varric groaned. “Sparkler and Tiny?”

“Assuming you mean the qunari and the magister, yes,” Bran replied even more stiffly. “I thought it best to leave them alone...”

“Smart, since we can‘t afford to replace you, and they don‘t have forever.  Besides, Fenris and Dorian together would probably make something explode.” Varric stood up. “I’m going to find my wife. Do you know where she's gotten herself to, Bran?”

“Library,” Bran informed him. “With the Guard Captain and her husband, and Merrill, as well as your daughter.”

“Excellent,” Varric grinned. “Thanks for your work today, Bran. I’m having a great time.  We should have more receptions, if they could all be like this.”

Bran blinked. “Thank you,” he started, but the Viscount was already gone. But it was a first, all the same. He squashed down a smile underneath layers of duty. “Champion, Prince Vael is in the ballroom.”

“No dancing, right?”  The Champion tilted her head at him seriously.

“The Viscount forbade it,” he sighed. A little stately ballroom dancing would have been just the thing.

“Well, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” the Champion challenged. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to at least have a little fun. Tell me, are those ceremonial swords still stuck on the wall in there?”

“Yes, but they are just that…” Bran started.  "Champion, do I have to ask you not to..."

“Good,” she smiled wickedly at him. “Sebastian owes me a dance. Thanks for everything, Bran,” she slapped him on the shoulder and left just as abruptly. “I know Varric and Cassandra appreciate it.”

And Bran was struck speechless as he watched her leave. Marriage had… mellowed her. Or perhaps it was Starkhaven tempering her?  He offered a glass absentmindedly to Merrill and the younger elf and both took them with polite thanks, talking a mile on a dozen different subjects. He shook his head, understanding perhaps two words in five, and left the room again.

The party really hadn’t been all bad. How… refreshing.

***

Varric woke in the middle of the night to the sound of his daughter crying in the next room, and his wife fast asleep. He pulled himself out from under the covers, pulled a robe around him, and shuffled to the next room, and pulled her out of her bed - long since upgraded from the cradle she started in. “Hey, Squirt,” he muttered dully. “Don’t wake your mom. It’s been a long day.” He held her and settled into the chair to rock her, knowing that he was instilling a bad habit. But screw it, she was growing too fast. He could manage without the extra sleep.  Not like there was anything important going on, besides refereeing between Asta and Starkhaven.

“Pa,” she grabbed his robe with a muffled sob, wrapping chubby fingers into it.

“That’s my name,” he rubbed his hand over his face. “Kid, you’ve got to start sleeping through the night,” he advised. “Sooner or later your mom is going to have my hide for not just letting you get yourself back to sleep. Not like you have bad dreams.” The baby was already nodding off against his shoulder, but he rocked her a little longer all the same, only laying her back down when she was nearly out. “See you in the morning, Squirt.”

He turned to the door and realized he was being watched. “Shh,” he warned the watcher. “With luck she’ll stay out ‘til morning.” His exhausted wife nodded, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “You okay?”

“Of course,” she started to insist, and then smiled, tired, “Only I woke up and you were gone. I… missed you,” she admitted cautiously, as if she were about to be teased.

“Not going anywhere, babe,” Varric climbed back into their bed, and she followed him. “I’d prove it, but damn, Cass, it’s been a long day.” He yawned, and Cassandra snuggled up against him, a silent request to be held. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I cannot want to be held, too?”

Varric laughed, “Course you can. Sorry, babe. Come here,” he managed their version of a spooning position - it was strange, but it worked for them. “You want me to prove it?”

Cassandra was silent for a moment. “Perhaps,” she admitted at last. “I had a dream, a disturbing one. I looked everywhere in Kirkwall and you weren’t there. I was… shaken. And then you weren’t here when I made myself wake up… I…”

Varric shifted, and rolled her over onto her back so he could make an attempt to loom over her. “Still here,” he kissed her, moving down her throat, and loosening the breastband she had been forced to wear to bed since Squirt had been born. “I’ll always be here.” He reached her breast with his mouth and she made an involuntary noise. “Still too sensitive?”

“No,” she urged. “No… keep going.”

He was only too happy to oblige. “Forever, if you need me to,” he promised. “I’m all yours.”

"And I, yours," she murmured, bending up against him, and pulling his lips back to her mouth.  "Always."

 

 


	28. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a silly epilogue, for those who want to know what happened in the following years. Shouldn't have too many spoilers for my other fics. But some of these things are really far out there, so who knows what I'll write in the future?
> 
> Enjoy.

Epilogue:

The Inquisitor, her husband and her Ambassador met with the Champion and Prince Vael starting a couple days after Varric and Cassandra's wedding, having decided that Kirkwall could be considered neutral territory.  After a certain initial awkwardness, and a few sincere apologies, they came to an agreement that was mutually beneficial to both the Inquisition and Starkhaven. Given the rising tensions between Nevarra and Tevinter, and Starkhaven’s unique placement and many trained mages, they agreed upon an alliance.  The Champion never stored her armor, always figuring that she was going to need it soon enough.

Visitors to Kirkwall began to confess that their dreams were full of irrational but pleasant music. As this news was replicated by many, and backed up by the reliable witness of the Champion on her frequent visits, a few Inquisition mages decided to move to Kirkwall and work with the Seekers. They regularly woke up abnormally cheerful, though a few reported a hazy wolf as a frequent visitor in their dreams, though he never attacked or threatened in any way. In fact, a few of them argued that he seemed to be enjoying the music of the ever increasing chorus of Hope spirits haunting that corner of the Fade. Several Inquisition mages knew exactly who he was, but given his benign presence, were ordered to wait and watch, instead of approach him.

Every mage agreed that it was a vast improvement over the nightmares they had experienced in Kirkwall before, and a group from the College announced their intention of studying the phenomenon hoping to replicate it in other places experiencing a thinner veil.  Their work so far has been inconclusive.

As for Merrill, she continued to communicate with Fen’Harel, and her friends continued to trust her to make the right decision in the end. She spent a great deal of time caring for Nadiya while her parents had to work, and Nadiya‘s knowledge of Dalish customs and cultures was extensive from an early age.

Nadiya grew into a strong redhead with her Uncle Bartrand's eyes and father's grin, taller than her father, though shorter than her mother, and showed an early interest in enchanted objects. She spent some time arguing with her mother about whether or not it was appropriate for her to receive vallaslin, but in this, at least, her mother won.  Merrill and Varric were both wise enough to stay out of the argument.  She also spent some time arguing with her parents to let her apprentice to a Smith, which both parents agreed was a terrible idea, but they eventually compromised and sent her to Dagna for instruction as a teenager. She excelled at her studies, and became the second Arcanist to work with the Inquisition.

That didn’t stop her from learning to shred a training dummy with her mother, and becoming a decent shot with a crossbow. “Decent” being relative, as she regularly managed to outshoot her father in their frequent competitions.

Varric continues to claim to this day that he lets her win, unless he’s speaking to Hawke, in which case he brags that his daughter is a better shot than her son.

Hawke published Anders’ manifesto formally and had it distributed widely at her own expense, and used her husband’s city as an example of how mages could be a positive influence in Thedas. Always active in her chosen cause, she led the fight against registered mages in the city, and won. Most Loyalists left the city afterward, choosing to found a new Circle somewhere else in Thedas that didn't have a former apostate bending the ruler's ear.

The intersections that house the new memorials in both Starkhaven and Kirkwall are called ‘Anders’ Square’ now, in his honor. It features a Veilfire lantern that is never allowed to go out. Once a month, on a rotating schedule, every healer, mage or otherwise, in the city of Kirkwall donates their time there for those that cannot afford their services, in his memory.

Even Varric has to admit that Starkhaven is a little less stuck-up with Hawke around, and though the two cities’ rivalry is stronger than ever, it has largely taken on a teasing rather than tense tone with the two of them egging it on from the sidelines. Grand Tournaments have become very interesting in recent years when the representatives meet each other on the field, but Hawke always switches sides and roots for Kirkwall, much to her husband‘s irritation, and Varric‘s frustration at being unable to bet on the outcome. Cassandra refuses to attend, and Varric lets her stay home, since the one time she did come, she spent the entire Tournament criticizing the competitors' form and technique.

It made it worse that she was right. Took the fun right out of the Grand Melee.

After years of not being hunted, and realizing, at last, that there was no one coming after her, or any of the other mages in Starkhaven, Hawke asked Sebastian very persuasively for a baby, choosing to hope that the world really was changing. Their son, who she named Cullen, despite her husband‘s arguments and the Inquisitor‘s irritated letter of congratulations, may or may not be a mage, but is definitely a good shot with a bow. If he cheats, his parents aren’t telling. He’s in line to inherit, after all, and both his parents know better than to advertise any weakness or strength until he‘s old enough to defend himself. Hawke is already talking to Aveline about taking him on a lengthy visit to Kirkwall to show him what being the child of the Champion really means. Sebastian intends to accompany them.

Her son’s ex-Templar namesake was merely embarrassed, and was heard to comment, “That is ridiculous. That‘s no reason to name a child after someone.”

Hawke and Sebastian continue to go through a lot of sheets, and argue frequently, but always manage to come to some sort of compromise. Hawke hasn’t had to pull out their marriage contract in years, but Sebastian hasn't ever stopped checking that she's still happy, just in case.

And the mages in Starkhaven are starting to hear singing in their sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been such a fun thing to write. It started out with a one-off of Hawke throwing fireballs and evolved into... Hawke throwing fireballs. :D Some things don't change, I suppose.
> 
> As always, I have to thank my husband for indulging me when my brain is completely elsewhere. My personality trait of zoning out when I'm being creative can be a massive pain to deal with in real life, and yet he puts up with me, and even encourages me.
> 
> I'm glad I got a chance to better wrap up Cassandra's and Varric's story, as well. I have many, many headcanons about Nadiya's place in the world (or any child of a human/dwarf couple, really.). It involves complicated descriptions of what I think lyrium does to dwarves in Orzamaar vs. dwarves on the surface, and what the Titans really are. Some of the theories will come out in Asta's After, but for those of you who don't intend to read that, I'd be happy to discuss it here or on tumblr.
> 
> Otherwise, I'll be working on my massive project involving the Society of Rebellious Archivists and Asta's After - there is a ways to go before I have the first chapter up and posting on a regular basis. So much fact-checking. I'm asking for help on this one - I know I'm not the only one who replays the games, right? So if you'd like to volunteer your services, suggest NPCs as possible members, you'll get credit. Contact me on tumblr or on here - but know that you'll be subject to major spoilers for Asta's After and the Society (which is still looking for a better name.).


	29. Alternate chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not canon for my story! But I had a few people say that they wanted to see the alternative I wrote where Nadiya was a boy instead of a girl. So here you go. It's pretty rough, obviously, but well - you wanted to see it.

Cassandra went into labor a week later, and no one realized for some time - including her.

“So she’s the suffer in silence type?” Hawke asked Varric quietly in the hallway where they had been banished, right outside the bedroom where a midwife and two assistants were laboring with her. He had refused to go any further away from her, despite their urging.

“You have no idea,” Varric couldn’t even joke, one foot against the wall, propped forward and tense with worry. “She told me that she had been having pains for two days, but that they weren’t regular, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and then her water just broke and…” He sunk to the floor. “Maker, Hawke, this could _kill_ her. What have I done? It‘s been hours, and I…”

“You had what I hope was really great sex and accidentally made a baby?” Hawke sighed, knowing she wasn’t helping. “Buck up, Varric. She’s tough, and strong. And she told me that her mother gave birth to her on a road halfway between Cumberland and Nevarra! This has to be better than giving birth in a carriage, right?” A groan came from inside the room at that moment. “Mind you, she doesn’t sound happy,” Hawke admitted, more alarmed than she liked to admit.

“Get him _in_ here!” A bellow came from the other side of the door and Varric leapt to his feet. “I don’t care what is _traditional_! I want him in here, _now_.”

Varric burst through the door before anyone could open it to find him and Hawke caught a brief glimpse of a very sweaty Seeker who reached for him in panic before the door swung shut. “I’m here, Cass, I’m here,” he soothed.

“You were right outside?” Her voice sounded surprised, and she took a gasping breath, almost a sob. “I can’t do it, Varric. It’s too hard.”

“You can do anything,” Hawke heard him say. “Breathe, babe. Come on, what does she need to do, Doc?”

“She needs to push! I can see the crown of the head.”

“You hear that, Cass? He’s almost here. Just a little more and…” Another groan echoed from the other side of the door and Hawke caught Sebastian’s rather worried eyes with her own. “Holy shit,” Varric sounded awed. “Damn it, Cass, he’s here. One more, babe, and he’ll be out and you never have to do this again. For me?”

“NO!” Cassandra yelled, but she groaned again, so long and drawn out that the silence afterward lingered. “Is that… is he…” A baby’s cry echoed against the stone, and then Hawke heard sobs like she had never heard before, broken and raw. “Why are you crying, dwarf?!” The Seeker’s horrified voice drifted through the door. “Varric, don’t cry. He’s…”

“He’s here!” The midwife announced. “Your son, Viscount Tethras, Seeker Pentaghast. Congratulations.”

“A boy?” Varric's voice was still thick, punctuated by the sound of newborn squalling. “Maker‘s Balls, Cassandra…” he was awed again. “Shit, I think he looks like Bartrand. Poor guy. It‘s okay, Squirt, we won‘t hold it against you. Come here, little guy.”

“Do not say such things,” Cassandra’s voice was full of fatigue, but still demanding. “He is perfect, Varric, just look…” Her words were muffled immediately. “He looks like you,” Cassandra corrected. “And a little like my brother, not yours. His eyes are Anthony‘s.” Hawke had never heard her voice sound so soft. “Hello, my son.”

“Well, the blue eyes will probably change color,” the midwife attempted to say, but obviously the new parents were not listening, from the muttered words that couldn‘t quite be made out between Varric's scattered sobs. Hawke pushed herself off the wall and pulled Sebastian away.

“They’ll want to be alone,” she murmured. “They’re all right, and they have a son. That’s what matters. That, and Varric is going to have me murdered on his son‘s Nameday. Probably right after we leave the Chantry.”

“But the girl name,” Sebastian followed her. “What were you…”

Hawke laughed wistfully. “I was going to name her Nadiya. Nevarran for ‘Hope’. Corny, I know, but… well, maybe they’ll use it for the next child. Not that after I have my say that they’ll ever ask me to name anything.”

“What makes you think either of them want to go through that again?”

“Oh, they don’t,” she assured him. “And the odds are against them. Still, Varric does have a way of tilting the odds, doesn’t he?” She winked. “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

***

The Nameday ceremony at the makeshift Chantry in Lowtown was understated, except for the regal gown the sleeping infant wore. He slept through the whole thing, not even waking up when he was placed in the Grand Cleric’s arms and she asked Hawke for his name, as his godmother.

Hawke took a very deep breath and cringing, announced, “His name is Cullen.”

In the assembled guests, a muffled curse came in a voice that sounded like Aveline’s, and Varric started to laugh. “Damn it, Hawke! What are you thinking?”

But Cassandra stopped him. “No, it’s perfect,” she announced, her face shining. “After the Commander of the Inquisition. One of the strongest people we know, Varric.”

“I didn’t want to reuse names…” Varric complained, “Hawke, you were supposed to have my back.”

“That’s what you get,” Hawke shrugged, catching Sebastian’s eye. “In my family, we name boys after Templars who let mage family members leave Kirkwall. I owe Ser Cullen.”

“But… Curly?!” Varric insisted.

“Be quiet, dwarf,” Cassandra ordered. “It’s perfect. His name is Cullen Tethras-Pentaghast,” she instructed the Grand Cleric, overruling the father‘s objections.

“The hell it is,” Varric muttered, but he nodded in capitulation all the same, knowing when he was beaten.

“Cullen Tethras-Pentaghast, by the Holy Andraste, and the Maker, I name you. May they both guide your steps and keep you safe,” the Grand Cleric said quickly, before the couple could change their minds, raising him up to show the assembled guests. Cullen continued to sleep. “One of the most well-behaved I’ve had the pleasure of naming,” the Grand Cleric observed, handing him back to his father. “Usually they scream through the blessing. Sleeping is nice for a change.”

“Hey, Cullen,” Varric muttered, to no response from the infant. “Sorry about the terrible name. He’s not a bad guy, but we could have done better.” For once he was the one glaring, but at Hawke, not his wife-to-be.

“It’s perfect, if a touch… Fereldan,” Cassandra argued. “And it honors a good person. One we both respect, and have no negative associations with. It is done, in any case. Let it go.”

“Speak for yourself,” Varric grumbled, and then sighed. “That’s what I get for asking a woman who named her dog ‘Dog’. I should be glad you didn’t name him after the Mabari.” He smiled though, looking at his son. “Cullen,” he muttered, trying it out. “Nah, it really doesn’t suit him at all. Squirt it is, babe.”

“You were going to call him that anyway,” Cassandra sighed, and stroked the baby’s head with a small smile, “Hello, Cullen,” the Seeker cooed.

Varric started to laugh, “You realize that Asta is going to be royally pissed off about this, right?” He met Cassandra’s eyes, and her mouth twitched slightly, even as she prepared to argue.

“She isn’t going to use it,” Cassandra shrugged. “If they even have children she will pick something obscure and random from five ages ago, I assure you. It will be dreadful. Asta has horrible taste. She gave herself an Avvar name, for the Maker‘s sake.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Varric grinned up at her over his son‘s sleeping body, face softening as he looked back down. “He’s a great kid, Cass. Thanks?”

“For what?” The Seeker blustered, turning a little red. “But you are right, he is wonderful.” The parents watched him sleep for a few more moments. “Thank you, Hawke,” the mother added at last. “I wouldn’t ever have thought of it, but… I think it’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” Hawke managed cautiously. “So, Varric, you kicking me out of Kirkwall for this? Stripping me of lands and title, etc?”

“Nah,” Varric shrugged. “You’re leaving soon enough. Stick around and get to know your godson. But you‘re never naming anything again. Ever. Or we‘ll end up with another Carver, or something.” They both shuddered in unison.

“Even I’m not that cruel,” Hawke muttered.

 


End file.
